I SEE DEAD PEOPLE.

like this thing for an introductory thing.

                                    THE DEAD DON’T SPEAK?                                     TRY LIVING IN MY WORLD. 

                                                     ‘ can i help you, miss? ‘

             delicate tones address the open air with a quietened frailty, digits fiddling with reddened string, transcending from the fabric around her neck. possessing the nature compared to that of a mother hen, gentle & kind is she, offering only soft words of help, to the stranger. 

like this thing for an introductory thing.

      HER FEET ACHE; they beg her for the sweet, heavenly sensation of rest. though, they know that for as long as she carries a bag filled with books, rest will never come to them. as if it couldn't make matters any worse, the temperature, although it was said to be a nice, cool, spring day, has turned for the very worst. the wind weighs tonnes, and feels as though it’s loaded with broken icicles from the north. a shame, really ---- but it won’t stop her, even as she stands at the traffic stop, shivering beneath her many layers.

                                  THE DEAD DON’T SPEAK?                                   TRY LIVING IN MY WORLD.

❛┊