felt: added 112
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silver disquietude in a barrel of lead;
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i am blisters and veins and boredom,
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silver disquietude in a barrel of lead;
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i am blisters and veins and boredom,
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and the sun refuses to set.
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i want to sit in the grass until the ferns
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grow through me, until my skin withers on
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the leaves and my eyes start up into the
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i want to sit in the grass until the ferns
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grow through me, until my skin withers on
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the leaves and my eyes start up into the
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unsetting sun, lidless.
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3
poems/felt/112.md
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3
poems/felt/112.md
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let me lick on the black crust under your fingernails, darling.
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i am sick; i want the world to know.
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i want to spew a black crust into the streets, and all the plants to die.
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