Contact Form

 

Erstwhile, Almost, Never

I still can smell you on my sleeves.
I still can taste you on my lips.

I’m still the fucked up twat that I am. I wrote “Marla Singer” as my name on the receipt, again. Emphasizing the still word, yes. Why does our full stop metamorphose into an unending ellipsis? It isn’t supposed to be this harsh, this absurd. But we are trapped in our own delinquencies.

You is a funny pronoun.

I still can smell you on my sleeves.
I still can taste you on my lips.

Sometime ago, I almost thought you would let it all go.

Total comment

Author

Eяin Heяoin

0   comments

Post a Comment

Cancel Reply

Erstwhile, Almost, Never

I still can smell you on my sleeves.
I still can taste you on my lips.

I’m still the fucked up twat that I am. I wrote “Marla Singer” as my name on the receipt, again. Emphasizing the still word, yes. Why does our full stop metamorphose into an unending ellipsis? It isn’t supposed to be this harsh, this absurd. But we are trapped in our own delinquencies.

You is a funny pronoun.

I still can smell you on my sleeves.
I still can taste you on my lips.

Sometime ago, I almost thought you would let it all go.

No comments:

Post a Comment