Young fresh skin
Shallow and dull
Suffocating in nothing
Weaving a rope
That we will hang from
Masochistic frail souls
Looking for it in the wrong places
Imaginary love lost
No real experience gained
Fresh glowing skin
Unmarked but underneath
Fear wrapped up in confindence
Scared of admitting
Little sad soul in mourning
For self-inflicted injury
Caley Holmboe
LITERARY TRUCE 