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Victoria

If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

1 poem·Since April 2013
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Science

April 20, 2013
His hollow black eyes whisper lethal, but he sure knows how to weave grace into a dull ribcage. His secrets of elegance deter one from the uncertainties of existence. Emptiness of the body cleanses the satanic fiends from ongoing; for survival of nutrients is nonsense, he claims with confidence. Tears of relief flood the eyes of the barren spirit, because solutions are surfacing like the sun streaming out of the clouds on a Sunday morning. Each breath of relief shakes the bones infinitely to purity, now that the promises of his surpass a destiny that life truly can’t handle.
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