
The Driskill






It seems perpetual... these incessant feelings about you. Spirals of unfettered tenderness... Mixed between breaths of angry déjà vu...



You were torn, ripped, and fraying at the edges... With faded colors and careless smudges. Self-destruction had since deemed you worthless... Yet my hand craved the cracks that had formed upon your surface.





You must be logged in to post a comment.