Tender Delusions - IV

Born from a painful somnolence, Where I made my bed And I went to lay These are the mournings of someone, Who watched herself find solitude in disarray. What's left of my soul lingers here, Trapped In tender delusions I must silence myself just one more day. (In progress)

Letters that won't be read.

The process of all that I've learned and the things that still hurt. Basically a journal so read at your own discretion.

F a d e d - II

My mistakes were not intentions, This is a list of my confessions.