Pink Skin
Crunch. Rustle. Sounds of brittle autumn leaves, Skins, shed from the tree, Trodden upon, heard not seen. Cold air, Sharp, carries...
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AISHWARYA JAYAL
Prose and Poetry
Welcome to a collection of thoughts, feelings, emotions, and abstract ideas curated from the very depths of your soul, now journeying back to you in the form of the written word. Herein are our desires, humanity, burdens, and journeys laid bare for us to reflect on privately, and yet, in the knowledge that we are not alone.
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