Expressing unoriginality originally | poems and stories | Lit Up enthusiast | Student
Last night’s dream was blunt and beyond subconscious control.
It gushed upon my pillows like a spilling bottle
and stayed, it stayed to…
We met up at the room last night.
The Lofted Room.
The Safe Room.
The Feather Room.
I hold the door open for you.
It’s funny, you see
The Art Teacher was pale, poorly muscled, palette knives.