chance
you and
I could feel
for a passing
moment, closing our wounds with stitch by time;
to blot the fated – shaded memories
of our tale which
like arson
you have
fried.
you and
I could feel
for a passing
moment, closing our wounds with stitch by time;
to blot the fated – shaded memories
of our tale which
like arson
you have
fried.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
otherpoet
SmileitsCaroline
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