There are wicked, withering, worrisome ways to tell your own tale.
If you find yourself staring into the green of an old forest, the trees creaking with ancient distress, the archaic aura that swarms your body, your soul; trust that.
If you find yourself aching by the seaside, her bones baring all the pain in the universe, deeper than space, more haunting too, she could crush you with ease, she only warns once, so run as fast as you can away because the ocean knows no mercy, nor method of science,
you will leave as distraught and torn as you came.
YOU ARE READING
Hysterical letters to my sanity
Poetrya collection of poems inspired by stories I've read, people I've met and paths I've crossed, read and enjoy yourself:)
