Autumn, we look back, who am I? I thought you were... supposed to know. A sliver in tune with cracks in my voice reflected on lustrous cheeks. Another dead-leaf labyrinth to roam alongside gentle kisses of burnt, balsam breeze.
Original poetry, short stories, and other bits.
Autumn, we look back, who am I? I thought you were... supposed to know. A sliver in tune with cracks in my voice reflected on lustrous cheeks. Another dead-leaf labyrinth to roam alongside gentle kisses of burnt, balsam breeze.