It feels like snow outside.
But with no majesty or pure white tides.
No clouds of iced-winter dreams
No crystals cleansing soiled-heart streets
No numb hands
No icy fingers in my grasp.
Just street lights, making artificial sunlight.
Just cold air, freezing up my insides.
Sucking my lungs into alveoli landslides
Something that is compromised, something not right.
Winter is a pretender down here,
Leaving us frigid to the bone
Leaving us without white to cure the alone.
Bonjour Paris! We’re on the final stretch of the Spring/Summer 2018 women’s
collections. Today is V-day! As always, don’t forget to tune in today,
October ...
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