Corset Blues


I write poetry, stories, madness. I transcribe my life into words. Beauty can be found anywhere and I guess I'm here chasing after my muse. Yet again. To contact:

Silver sparks in the darkness and the night rains on my umbrella. Insanity is just a lullaby around the corners and how many smiles are your lips capable of? What about mornings drowning in dew and the length of your fingers are all wrong and your eyebrows seem unable to make that climb down from your forehead back to your eyes - is it insanity you court with your feverish whispers to daffodils or is it an escape from the world?

  1. peachesandkimchi posted this