xviii. IN THE END.
you may have let me go
but your claw marks still burn red.
YOU ARE READING
what tomorrow brings.
Poetryxvii, april. (iii). you have no voice if no one is listening. © playlist poetry h.r. : #3
xviii. in the end.
xviii. IN THE END.
you may have let me go
but your claw marks still burn red.
