I've always been afraid of dying.
And I'm too tired of living.
But it seems that
the day I was born, did I begin to die.
And there's nothing I could do but choose how to face it.
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A/N: I'm ready to face the little stars bursting in golden flakes!
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
