hyper mint

A Poem by winter;lyra

pardon my
alt right
nonsensical mannerism
actually
the entropy is enemy
ought to be
i duck my strings solemnly
no crutch and i had this thing soon to be
crude glean
not the winds
not the simple kin nor the skinsip
no, that wasn't it
the way of making things hyper mint
she's no one
she's no saint
i slit her throat
but she still breathe
i think
hide and seek
i'm no creep
hide and kill
pragmatic with my grief