Excerpts from a letter

[oh___jealousy]

I want to say I wander the streets here, but I don't. I sit on the stoop staring. I need someone to miss. No more ideas. I feel as though I've grown cold to the world. I say I know love, but I'm so clinical, so analytical. There is so much to be seen. I've enveloped myself in lies. I hate the cold, but I love shivers. Does that make sense

Comments

[thankgodimtori]

that poem makes me cry too.