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Running from house to house
…I start this poem with a drawl.
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2.1
“…where are we going?”
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the mortifying ordeal of being known
continuation of “heartstrings”
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incriminating
a murder scene.
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jingle
…music box pitches for me to carry.
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heartstrings
…of a slick and stained pizzicato.
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Untitled
with no little amount of despair…
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timber
Finally, there will be the yearning for yourself, and maybe what once was.
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Bowl
that dude
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globgoglogalab (but it’s fine, cause it’s ok)
This is not a cry for help.
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Melody Zhang 