Jul 29, 2019
24.2.1986
Does a list of my fragmented thoughts count as poetry?
I sat on the ground today For at least a couple of hours Staring at a spot Where a pile of ash had once been poured Long blown away I still sit there every year Who will pour me onto the ground?Â
My mother was never the same after he died His birthday is today How long ago did he die? I cant remember I think it’s been a while
My fake tan is patchy I look like a burn victim Or a snake My skin slowly peeling A new me
Am I made of his ash?
