Remember.
The apple that
killed
Snow White was a masterpiece brewed from the poison of jealousy.
Not hate.
entries //
prologue
I DIDN'T WAKE UP DEAD
Cradle me
written on Thursday, February 21, 2013
2:01 AM
I am a Sunday 3 a.m., too late to rest, too little to carry on. I am a sad song on a stormy day, a rain drop left behind the bay. I am the cry of a stolen child muffled by her own drowning breath, the light that fell onto the ground without a trace. A fragment of the nights' willful dreams, sewn beneath the horizon's seam. I am, though, a bag of broken bones with a beating heart to free.
Cradle me
written on Thursday, February 21, 2013
2:01 AM
I am a Sunday 3 a.m., too late to rest, too little to carry on. I am a sad song on a stormy day, a rain drop left behind the bay. I am the cry of a stolen child muffled by her own drowning breath, the light that fell onto the ground without a trace. A fragment of the nights' willful dreams, sewn beneath the horizon's seam. I am, though, a bag of broken bones with a beating heart to free.
the fallen grace
It was when all the lights in my world blew out and everyone I thought cared, left.
When I first held onto him, I barely knew his name. But I was certain, this is who He have sent to save me. Am I wrong? Was I wrong?
I loved him from our first touch.
And I still love him today.
