without something left to burn...
hope dies
ice takes its place
there's always a reason
the bad aren't without cause
the good have hearts
the wicked have eyes
YOU ARE READING
we live alone in our brains
PoetryDo we grow up and find ourselves? Meaning that we only claim what has already been discovered? Or, do we get to create ourselves? Here is a collection of a lonely person's thoughts that explore these questions.
