Love is a gangrenous limb,
Mangled and raw,
Never healing, love is a metonym,
Fatal ifn't offed     with a hacksaw.

The window is a mirror,
I am the pregnant charcoal sky,
Gazing out I see within,
Through the self- and self-reflexive lie,
That I am I am I,
Drops away, cool and clear and as winter near,
The truth precipitates,
The year's first snow accumulates,
Tossed by winds across the sky, vast and open as my mind,
In which is I,
In which is I forever going blind.

Breathing white canvas
picturesque flowing colors
many sunflowers



Shell✨🐚

The longest death I've ever felt is staying alive