my hand brushed against the marble
and my fingers clawed in shock.
it was cold.
so cold.
and i looked over to you
and stared at you closer
and saw your pale skin
and dead eyes
and realised,
you weren't so different to the statue.
YOU ARE READING
where's my mind / poetry, oneshots etc.
Poetrywriting like i'm running out of time; like i need it to survive.
