ask my mother,
she'll tell you.
actually, no,
no she won't.
she good at pretending,
and I am too.
it's impossible to love me
longer than six seconds;
three days,
tops.
ask anyone ive ever met.
sticks and stones may break me, but
the silence swallows me whole.
and I love,
I do,
i love a boy like the moon loves the sun,
my father like sand loves the sea.
and now,
now im calling your bluff,
bridges burned, broken knees;
spilling oil ducts
into the brain, into the breeze.
title in WORKS // August 28th @ 2:31am