Her soul was made of stars,
each hanging by a thread.Becareful not to let them fall
into the darkness below,for once they are all gone
she will end up dead.
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Words with Wounds
PoesieThe truth is, I crave that empty itch that resides between my flesh and skin; that horrid feeling that calls the rigid spaces between my hallow bones home. © astrolate
T W O
Her soul was made of stars,
each hanging by a thread.Becareful not to let them fall
into the darkness below,for once they are all gone
she will end up dead.