When I was a young girl, I must’ve been about five or six, I would always be outside running around playing. Mama hardly ever knew where I got off too. She said I would be gone for hours while she looked after my little sister. But I remember. Down the dirt road we lived… Read More The white house, the old lady, and the little girl.
— Writings —
— Poetry —
Reality a beautiful place with a beautiful face and yet the soul within is decaying. Tangled Twisted wrapped up around so many poisonous dreams. Reality such a fine lady is never as she seems.