ame sentinelle, murmurons

my lame-ass poetry.
mostly I talk about the ocean and depression.
I write for myself even if it's selfish.
enjoy



Forward
Backward

phantom

the hands which showed me what to trace

the hollow eyes which blinded mine

the depressing phantom I once employed

whispering twists in my ear, smoothly equivocal

he spat in my eyes, told me they were tears

desperate for feeling I swallowed the lies.

this creature has left

with his weightless baggage and double edged tongue

blown with the leaves