Nov 2018
I drift away again,
A wisp of smoke
From between pursed lips,
Coiling through cold fingers
No longer my own
Before disappearing
Into the quiet night
A wisp of smoke
From between pursed lips,
Coiling through cold fingers
No longer my own
Before disappearing
Into the quiet night
This is a short poem about dissociation.
(30/F/Washington, US)
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