His fickle blue eyes
They dangerously dazzle
Cold against my warmth
About the Creator
Jules
London-based writer, journalist & producer.
Palms
A single frond reaches outward, catching the warm sunlight, each slender
By Archery Owl about 12 hours ago in Poets
Thirty (one) and Neither Flirty nor Thriving.
I'm thirty-one and orbiting the same few mistakes like they're landmarks. London is already awake before I am (or before I've slept) - sirens somewhere far enough to ignore, buses sighing at stops, people moving with purpose I can't quite borrow. I lie there for a bit, tasting last night at the back of my throat, trying to remember if I meant to drink that much or if it just...happened again.
By Stacey Vellaa day ago in Psyche
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