Why is poetry dying when we still have the gift? If we still have water then we still have a ship. We can sail to the places these words take us. We are still shaken by the words that make us. Why should we let poetry die when there is so much to explore? If only people read it and discovered more.
cameras flash lights blare mother smiles heart aches stomach rumbles agent is pleased skinny skinny skinny must be skinny must be pretty must be perfect must be good enough not enough never enough ugly ugly ugly why do people even like me ugly model ugly girl hate me cutting carving creating scars drink drank drunk drip drip hoping I'll just bleed out.