To the morning
swirling a cup of coffee as I sink into the couch, a tendril of steam clawing it’s way free.
I am desperate. I am desperate. I am desperate.
You can tell from my actions, by the way I retreat from our bed to the condolence I find in that freshly brewed aroma
depressed a woman of twenty longing to have a purpose in life. I am desperate.
RavenIcicle · Thu Jan 31, 2008 @ 06:03pm · 0 Comments |