Around our heads.
The flowers fall.
Crowning, yearning.
This history of touch.
Memory of want.
Speckles the skin.
Compressed by time.
Lost by lies.
Rusted and old now.
Tired, like a dream.
Once sold.
Around our heads.
The flowers fall.
Crowning, yearning.
This history of touch.
Memory of want.
Speckles the skin.
Compressed by time.
Lost by lies.
Rusted and old now.
Tired, like a dream.
Once sold.
Havoc and Consequence 
Vulnerable but beautiful.
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Thank you, don’t we all bare our soul here.
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we should be grateful that we have souls to bare. I am sure there are some who do not —
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Indeed, i think they find it easier to bare their skin then their souls.
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