Poems from PashaTaite
plunging into submersible bliss. disorientated. my eyes burn, not from the chlorine but from the pressure of my sockets; lids locked tight...
no ones home.
i don’t think anyone truly sees how deep sadness runs through my body.
cowardly submitting to the second nature of sorrow...
oh to feel the wuthering heights love can bring to the static position we play, locked in the 21st century of telephone falsities claiming...
the stars must have aligned on that chilly october night,
although it was a tragic series that introduced us.
morrissey and the patriarchy...
you held a magnifying glass to a petri dish and watched the abysmal organisms squirm,
the petri dish i called my life.
isn’t it ironic that...