How is it, a crowded room
of plastic peers, with secret glooms
can make you feel, so all alone
torn at the seams, so poorly sewn.
-a.h.
YOU ARE READING
whirring | 1
Poetry❝Hope is the thing with feathers that perches into the soul - and sings tunes without words - and never stops at all.❞ [welcome to whirring act one. this is the first installment of my personal poetry. these writings are so near and dear to my heart...
