When you know it’s over.

Posted on by distantcave
  • When the scaffolding chips away,
  • When the songs no longer fit the circumstances,
  • When the texts take too long to return,
  • When the morning surf is the main highlight— the solitariness of it
  • When the berries seem crisp but smash inbetween fingertips
  • When everything fades to black
  • No origin
  • No savings left.

Published by distantcave

A writer studying psychiatry, and gardening on the good days.

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