my love- what has become of us?the rotten, flaky dust covering our bodies seep into my pores andturn the once so soft and tender fragility into someth..
my whole world: tell me that the moon spoke to youthat the wind whispered a sweet lullaby in your earmy handsome man: tell me that everything is gonna..
am i being too hopeful?do i excel in tearing myself down by bringing joy uponme where there is none to be had, and i- unknowingly create joy unexpecte..
no- i do not wish for sleepfor tonight is the holy nightthe sky is whisperingand my eyes are forever opennot blinking through lights of thousands of s..
all of the things i said, regarding us... how when i expressedmy disdain of conformity; the irony of the tragedy was thati was in full militia garbs, ..