They pretend to be
resurrection men.
Stitching feathers
into my skin.
They pretend to fly
when they send me
into the sun.
I pretend to be on fire,
streaking like a comet.
But I am only held together
with glue.
JKolasch
They pretend to be
resurrection men.
Stitching feathers
into my skin.
They pretend to fly
when they send me
into the sun.
I pretend to be on fire,
streaking like a comet.
But I am only held together
with glue.
JKolasch