24 year old who writes poems as and when ideas strike her - usually at 3am.
Alcove My mind, it races Through corridors of could-have-beens, Rifling through boxes stacked haphazard, that should have been labelled ‘Me-And-Him.’
By Paige Hayden7 years ago in Poets
Every glittering window holds a life, Souls clawing, clutching, wrong from right. A unique story, placed in a home, And with that, we’re never truly alone.
By Paige Hayden8 years ago in Poets
The epitome of a great fucking guy Is the man twice your age who passes by While you're walking home from a late night bar
