Hands{green}
"The air is a mill of hooks–
Questions without answer,
Glittering and drunk as flies
Whose kiss stings unbearably
In the fetid wombs of black air under pines in summer."
- Sylvia Plath
"Stuck in another loop of
Waiting and not wanting,
Struck by the beauty of the scars
We've been collecting,
Childhood memories,
Or the the lack of them, is what draws me to you again,
Knowing someone somewhere has an idea of my pain.
– Junky Jeff
I really suck at poetry. Actually, I really suck at doing most of the things I enjoy.
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