my saddest poetry, born of shelter, carved prayer in old desks
held tight in safe sweaters
and safe hands and safe tragedy
like
i think a.s. hates me and
i’m not ready to leave
my saddest poetry, obsolete
who could relate, now, to such small heartache
to such warm, quaint grief
Dec 14, 2025
Dec 14, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC
my saddest poetry, born of shelter, carved prayer in old desks
held tight in safe sweaters
and safe hands and safe tragedy
like
i think a.s. hates me and
i’m not ready to leave
my saddest poetry, obsolete
who could relate, now, to such small heartache
to such warm, quaint grief