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lucycgrayPoems
The clouds are plastic, Plastered to the sky, Synthetic blue, Fragile behind. The sun is always burns, Our tiny worlds turn, We peer through mirrors To gaze at our creation.
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Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
Clouds
The clouds are plastic, Plastered to the sky, Synthetic blue, Fragile behind. The sun is always burns, Our tiny worlds turn, We peer through mirrors To gaze at our creation.
lucycgray
Written by
lucycgray
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
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