by THE SILENT TYPE
Popularity: 14 users have visited this page this week.
The storm is now pressing its weight on all sides as it plunges its nails into pine. The tall waters will wash us away. For now, forget, erase, and leave nothing behind whence we came--no ruins, nor relics, nor names, nor anchors to hang in the tides that slowly still unwind. But we rest assured we're safe in our graves. With faces upturned, we look to be saved, but the rustling of soil will slowly subside and quietly die.
Home<< Previous Page Next page>>