A

Our Poem.

The fairy tale ends with a lady who stole
A couple of rusty nails
Stolen from a local mail
she studies at Yale

Can you hear her yell?
Burning in the depths of hell
May her body rest in peace
A motionless soul
Lies dead
Beneath a darkened dwell.

But...
She rots in hell
The clock strikes twelve
She takes a deep breath and whispers,
“Oh well.”

This is the first poem we’ve ever written together. It was a lonesome night. Both of us slept alone but that wasn’t enough to stop us from talking. I noticed that every time we’re together time passes by at the speed of light. Calls on messenger are no different. Before we knew it, three and half hours went down the drain. It was now 1AM, I feel like the luckiest girl in the World. We can talk about anything!

~Yours Truly,