the flower withered and died the day after you gave it to me and i should've taken it as a sign but instead i let it sit on my windowsill for a month, as if holding onto something long gone changes the fact that it's gone.
[sometimes it's good to know when to let go.]
YOU ARE READING
the remains
Poetryspontaneous poetry written while overcoming some of life's many obstacles. ❝i cried tears you'll never see, so fuck you. you can go cry me an ocean and leave me be.❞ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ COLLECTION NO.1 #125 in poetry © wraiths™ 2015
