*"Marks on her skin" was slightly...
The cogs stopped twisting,
The hand stopped ticking...
Is this life
is this what I'm ment to do...
He never had perfect prose,
nowhere near the sort...
I can feel it inside
as the time creeps nearer...
Grandpa, my eyes will never deny how speechless I
was when seeing how pain wrapped itself around...
It's been eleven years
since the day I left you...
In February,
there is tenderness in the air...
Everyday is a battle
A fight till the finish...
You never saved the poetess
that lived within her because...
She knew it was hard,
It was somewhat strange...
The lights were dimmed and
there was a melancholic presence...