The autumn winds blow at me
Softly, quietly, almost like they're not even there
And as the first red leaves fall I fall also
I fall right into your trap
Into your trap of fake promises
Fake promises of love and comfort
Fake promises of remaining whole
YOU ARE READING
I think I would like to say something
Şiirshe doesn't speak much, but she writes. she writes beautiful. she writes in roses and soap and lavender. she writes poetry.
