The trappings we drag,
for the overnight stay in the damp, dark,
cold to the touch;
parts of the
hell that we
personally designed
just for
moments like these;
when the world
feels too small for
how much we don’t feel.
The trappings we drag,
for the overnight stay in the damp, dark,
cold to the touch;
parts of the
hell that we
personally designed
just for
moments like these;
when the world
feels too small for
how much we don’t feel.
writing as a way of life
My ramblings poems and musings enjoy or not no pressure
The varied thoughts of a millennial modern linguist.
Talking about real things
Poetry and Poems
All that is me!
CRIME WRITER
Fabulously Refined/Wildy Inappropriate
A home for the stories and poems that got away.
I Kill My Own Spiders
character limited descriptions kind of give me anxiety
A few new poems every week. Haikus on Sundays.
Reblogged this on Beasts of Articulation.
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