“I told you not to call me,” she’s
yelling on
the other side of
a satellite, a
final glint of sun asShe hangs up, it’s
slipping around the dark side
of a curve;
I slide my phone
into my back pocket,Into the
space
a full pack
used
to occupy,And throw the ember
of my cigarette,
half-smoked,To the gutters
of this town.
(Poem by Michael Lala. Model: Katelan Foisy)
(Source: callmebalthazar)
“I told you not to call me,” she’s
yelling on
the other side of
a satellite, a
final glint of sun asShe hangs up, it’s
slipping around the dark side
of a curve;
I slide my phone
into my back pocket,Into the
space
a full pack
used
to occupy,And throw the ember
of my cigarette,
half-smoked,To the gutters
of this town.
(Poem by Michael Lala. Model: Katelan Foisy)
(Source: callmebalthazar)
Posted 1 year ago 9 notes View high resolution
Notes:
-
laurianne-jones reblogged this from callmebalthazar
-
fairytalevegas liked this
-
moresongsaboutbuildings liked this
-
jessicasjunk liked this
-
katelanfoisy reblogged this from callmebalthazar and added:
She hangs up, it’s...And throw the ember
-
adasancerre liked this
-
neverregretting liked this
-
dementes reblogged this from callmebalthazar and added:
She hangs up, it’s...And throw the ember
-
paleskinblueeyes liked this
-
callmebalthazar posted this
