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Composure.There was once a girl. Residing in this particular girl was a spark in her eye and raging fire buried within the depths of the soul which illuminated optimism and cast doubt into impenetrable shadows. As months passed, the roses in the garden slowly began to die and the pettles would hang limp and fall away from the stem. Gradually, it appeared she did the same. Her hair that once framed a face which radiated positivity now hung limp about her shoulders and that spark in her eye faded, leaving identical hollow irises as the rose thorns began to constrict her.Composure.
Many months later she dragged herself from the corne
by ~AtticIntoxications
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we will fold and freeze together far away from here.Previous PageNext Page