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garden of heartache.

garden of heartache.

wilted, like funeral roses, black and crumbling from the weight of your ghost they sit in stagnant denial, thoughts swirling and dreams drowning in their desolation, petals plucked and seeds strewn — perhaps, they’ll create a garden of heartache for all the lonely...
Cold Nights

Cold Nights

  you ask me for the time and wanted to know about the weather and all I could think about was the year when winter stripped away the last pieces of us (i’m barely holding on and you barely remember) we were so busy putting out fires that we let our own die out i...