the wall slid up my back,
for the third time in
a row.
and i
found myself
amongst
decorated demise.
YOU ARE READING
t w e n t y
Poetryin which a girl indirectly shares her dying hope in t w e n t y words ~ The fire in her eyes had long diminished, and her scars had long unravelled, but the only remnant she dared to share, of her battered mind, was kept in the braided breaths an...
sliding walls
the wall slid up my back,
for the third time in
a row.
and i
found myself
amongst
decorated demise.
