blissfully out of place
Your touch is a warmth that shoots through every vein every nerve my hands, always cold start to sweat but you let me go
By madison murray5 years ago in Poets
I met a boy with a hand of cards somehow, I slipped in the mix of his deck the days I came out on top were bliss until I found out he
Sleep wrapped me in its arms but for how long I couldn’t say it seemed like quite a while the pierce of the blade was what woke me
There was a time in my life when anxiety was never a part of my vocabulary. The concept just didn’t exist. Boy, do I miss that. Now it seems like anxiety is my morning, afternoon, and evening.
By madison murray5 years ago in Psyche