Soul in metaphor
My soul is like a dark room in an abandoned house, where phantom piano keys still dance in the air. Where cracked and broken windows send whispering chills down your spine, yet welcome bird nests on dusty bookshelves. There’s foliage from thunderstorms that scatter on cashmere sheets where ghosts of lovers still lay & hazed mirrors on the wall that still ache for presence.
Copyright © Breana Hull | Year Posted 2026
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