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Jun 2020
I trace my hand across
the expanse of my skin;
trying to feel any
remnants of you.

My fingers automatically
expand,
retract,
intertwine,
on its own accord
to the ghosts of you.

Can you feel me?

I ache.
I beg.
I bargain.
I persist.
I breathe.

I hope, still.
My lungs literally stops breathing whenever a memory of you pops up. Please, take these away.
Ariadne
Written by
Ariadne  Gender Fluid
(Gender Fluid)   
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