mary • 16 • michigan

Sunlight bright upon my pillow, Lighter than an eiderdown. Will she let the weeping willow, Wind his branches round? Every night I turn the light out, Waiting for the velvet bride. Will the scaly armadillo, Find me where I'm hiding? Will the misty master break me, Will the key unlock my mind? Will the following footsteps catch me, Am I really dying?