Angst cannot be tamed at the hands of a worrier But celebrated, and even cultivated into grandeur Chaos. Keeping heads tied in knots as hands grow
By Jadeeee3 years ago in Poets
I have heard a lot about how a man never truly recovers from the loss of his first love. That anytime he looks into someone else’s eyes, he sees a glimpse of us.
What wise words could be found behind such shrill eyes? The irises themselves were quite beautiful. A soft butter brown with flakes of green and amber near the center.
By Jadeeee4 years ago in Poets
