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arthur-johnPoems
The wind as cold as memory. The sun fleeing to it's grave. Onlookers smile at it's ****** It's all they crave. Change.
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Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
Change
The wind as cold as memory. The sun fleeing to it's grave. Onlookers smile at it's ****** It's all they crave. Change.
Written by
arthur-john
22/M/London
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
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