For many women, turning thirty is something we are conditioned to dread. As though we are born with a clock already ticking, counting…
I was born into an unknown realm,
If one day my bed becomes a grave,
Will my thoughts disappear?
When,the day is long andtime,weighs the silence of the hourcome,rest awhile with me,my love
I scattered cherry redpetals of loveCrumplednowThey stain crisp cold sheets