Ophelia (1851-2) by John Everett Millais Credit: Photo: © Tate
I dissolve into the quiet of the grove,
pick myself apart the way my father taught me.
Hands clutching wildflowers,
the river aids my thirst for death
under the stars—
at least I rot prettily.
Writter for the beautiful prompt by @abrochinepoetry
Thank you for reading! ❤️
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