So soft, gentle, clean and unblemished. Short but pointed on five ends, ten ends, fifteen, twenty. Softly, gently, gloved hands place his fragile frame in my arms.
By Jules Margaret3 years ago in Poets
Run, girl. Run. They're going down a path you can't follow. Each step littered with paper like contraband in prison, Each paper a trigger,
By Jules Margaret4 years ago in Poets
