A ring rests upon a finger where your
love has withered and corroded to dust
Mine flies like butterflies ascending in the wind.
I greave for your emptiness that only
fades like your inked waning words.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 5:42 PM UTC
A ring rests upon a finger where your
love has withered and corroded to dust
Mine flies like butterflies ascending in the wind.
I greave for your emptiness that only
fades like your inked waning words.
