A classicist who is grateful to be born in the wrong era.
Ars gratia artis.
Cyan stars, my sun Through the celestial night and The darkness inside.
By Claudia Tofanelli3 years ago in Poets
I pretend my tissues are red with phthisic blood. I play pretend with all my diseases. I make them tragic and grand as I’ve always done.
There have been days when anguish, sorrow, and dismay were the ferocious tyrants of my soul, and all I could feel was a pain so deep that it felt too much for this weak, earthly body.
By Claudia Tofanelli5 years ago in Psyche
