The swing set made a harsh noise of rusted metal.
With each sway of the wind I pinched my skin between needing fingers.
My thoughts urged me to pick open wounds and smile with a twisted grin as my hands became blood soaked. 251 more words
Tags » Poet
“The world is full of magic things patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper”
It’s Tues, classes start back up again. New responsibilities and priorities. But one thing never changes. My love for theatre and my nervousness before auditions. If you’ve been reading you already know I was apart of the spring undgergrad production of Moreau. 294 more words