Flammable knifes pulsating through your lit tower regrets; kiss me Peirce me live in me I'm yours.
"when the cold rains kept on and killed the spring it was as though a young person had died for no reason." Ernest Hemingway
this will be my last poem
so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...
