This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Chapel Hill chapter.
the taste of salted ice will never leave my lips
when i remember i’m wishing for
a candlelit dinner with the angel that
brought me down from the treetops to witness
the downfall of the paradise i had
to bury under a sheet of snow
white take my color take my liberty
from my lungs as i wither away
into a fluid made of
acid washed memories and dreams