Floating dust. Spotlight sunbeam. Feet towards the people. Cough the rust off your lungs. Empty eyes drawn to burning bulbs. It’s time to speak up.
By Lungs Calogera6 years ago in Poets
THE LAUNDRY ROOM To anyone who thinks I’m an extrovert, I’m not. I’m full of shit. To anyone who thinks I hate myself, I don’t. I’m a narcissist.