"But if the story's over, why am I still writing pages?"
-Taylor Swift
Flecks of old paper fall on my lips, dancing with the coffee and toast Shelves piled with unorganised spines, reds and browns form cityscapes
By Scarlett Bird about a year ago in Poets
A sunbeam slices through the sky, Blinding. I crave it, its warmth, Crave its light. A break in this, my endless night.
By Scarlett Bird 2 years ago in Poets
Stuck. Should she suffer? Save souls? Somewhere, someone smiles. Somehow, still standing, she speaks. Softly, Soon stout-hearted, stentorian.
By Scarlett Bird 3 years ago in Poets
