when summer ends
i will do it again
no one suspects a thing in the cold
snowflakes will not melt
at the touch of my skin
when long sleeves are there to
cover my wrists
YOU ARE READING
quarter to dawn {poetry}
شِعرa collection of poems. you ask me why i like art and i tell you that the water colours bleed prettier than my wrists
25
when summer ends
i will do it again
no one suspects a thing in the cold
snowflakes will not melt
at the touch of my skin
when long sleeves are there to
cover my wrists
