Eh…

These things I warrant, and see, these ghosts, aspirations and hopes these fading things. My eyes, in a cracked mirror. This ghost, clattering... I talk so fucking fast. A poet of listicles. Shallower than Plath. No clue where my inner Prufrock sits. As if there could be another... Failure, to be clear, bounced repetitive, just … Continue reading Eh…