She had heart hands
Fragile fingers
Tender folds
And little scabs and scars
That betrayed where she had been hurt
JE LEEST
Written in the Wondering State
Poëzie"If we exist only to someday cease, Who are we here to please? These drops of life we continue to seize; Do they make us thieves?" If poetry is constantly spilling out of me like ink upon the parchment of an aspiring writer, then why not write it al...
