Garden of Leaves

Are we all just grieving till there’s no grief left?
Are we all just living, to put life at rest?
And the singers and painters and video-makers
Will have nobody left to hold
‘Cause we’re all just pockets with stitchless holes.

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2 thoughts on “Garden of Leaves

    1. I wrote this thinking about art and the role of the artist, and how much/why people consume art, and whether or not art can stay with people forever. I find it all unsettling, so I guess that translated in you reading of it – but I don’t really think about the stuff I write, so I guess it means nothing and everything at the same time, if that makes sense. Thanks for commenting, it means a lot :)

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