Tears make their way down my cheeks, countless drops hit the ground, light as a feather of a Monday evening. My face radiates heat of embarrassment, heartbreak, and layers of low self-esteem. Nothing else to do at two in the morning, but begging these words can form a story. A story that I can feel content. A story to where I can feel to forget. A single tear to sign my petition of horrid dreams, and abandon engrossed feelings.
YOU ARE READING
Clandestine Volume 1
PoesíaA mix of short stories, and a bundle of poetry written in my hours of insomniac nights. Dark and twisted maybe even inspirational.
