Dogs.
Deliberately devious.
Delicate.
--(idk if im like Known or Unknown but like people know me but they don't really talk to me so idk idk im not good with words)
I'm not a poet. I'm an artist. Can't I just sketch a drawing of Shawn instead?
Shawn. Shawn Hunter.
He has dark hair and dark eyes, soft and big hands, kinda muscle-y, always wears a tee and a leather jacket, the kind of sad boy that doesn't let anyone know and cares about others more than himself, pushes the ones he loves away when overwhelmed, his mom walked out on him, his dad died of a heart attack in front of him, his guardian Mr Turner was seriously injured in a motorcycle accident, he absolutely loves poetry, writes and takes pictures of stuff.
But I don't really talk to him much.
YOU ARE READING
Alphabet
RomanceAfter sex, after coffee, after everything there is to be said -- The hovering and beautiful alphabet as we make form our first words after making love. And somehow I'm still alive. -- Unknown
