Snapping like the strings of violins, red dripping on my fingertips. The angels cry for the bleeding hearts, the sirens sing their songs of sorrow, both sobbing in their worlds, apart, what is whole today is gone tomorrow.
Snapping like the strings of violins, red dripping on my fingertips. The angels cry for the bleeding hearts, the sirens sing their songs of sorrow, both sobbing in their worlds, apart, what is whole today is gone tomorrow.
She is an outcast. She finds it easier to express what she feels in the form of writing. Whether it is poems, letters or long texts. These are poems that she writes trying to describe how it feels to...