I identify as dead
Thanksgiving slightly drunken freestyle
Fragments of him
Regrets and sorrow
Hope is a dead star
People always have the wrong expectations of people they never give a chance to know. And yet we carry that burden.
The end of times is upon us and I'm over the bullshit
Oh my fucking goddddd, another day, of my two favorite things
Where do I put the love?
A poem about love & loss & loving again. Love hurts...
And there upon my epitaph shall say, "died in the womb", for life never existed and the heart was a broken tomb. © Delia Ross. 2019