I feel the warp of wood before me. You know that force.
Did you expect it wouldn't be this hard. It's damp and will stay that way.
The conversation ended. Your silence was the nail.
The right you had has no more right/left.
I ended my bending towards the light.
I learnt to live in the dark. I made it dusky pink.
Your poetic fascination is tiresome.
The overuse of language.
The abuse of hope.
There's no more real left in us.