Solstice

Irati πŸ”±πŸ¦‰
QUING OF THYME
Published in
Jan 18, 2021

The sun tastes of ash
The moon is hard and bitter
The stars jeer at me
The air is empty and stale

I am hollow

My teeth crumble
My tongue decays
My limbs contort
My skin falls apart

I just want to feel

The sun’s warmth
The strength in my bones
My proper shape
Your new eyes

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Irati πŸ”±πŸ¦‰
QUING OF THYME

antifascist feminist thinking about (&) feeling many things // not β€œa man” // any pronouns but "he/him" // human // ʎ|y