15.9.14

bluish


The indelible dark milk of your tears and the ticking bombs of your hopes release peace into each corner of the world.
Let go, let go, let go.

___

Poems are tiny orbs containing death, 
held in the hands of weird bluish gods.

___

Your mouth was a dark American door. It opened without incident to the smell of cigarettes and deep regret.

2 comments:

AVY said...

I love that smell.

/ Avy
http://MyMotherFuckedMickJagger.blogspot.com




Kate I said...

so lovely charis:) please visit me in free time:) http://mesmerize87.blogspot.com/