THE STARS
GROW BITTER
WITH OUR
BRUISING
WORDS.
— but we can't stop our fingers as they press into the night sky
YOU ARE READING
SUN SETTING
Poetryit was at that time of ruin, that the stars rose from their graves. skytaints | all rights reserved ©
ix.
THE STARS
GROW BITTER
WITH OUR
BRUISING
WORDS.
— but we can't stop our fingers as they press into the night sky
