Still Life. By themischievousannaFebruary 13, 2016 ( 2 ) A figure though I was, And with a life to figure The window to my right, Was the Location For my, Every night. Advertisements Share this:Share on TumblrTweetMoreEmailPrintPocketLike this:Like Loading... Categories: Art, WritingTags: art, Fiction, fiction&poetry, life, painting, people, poetry Related Articles Her Amorphous Grin. By themischievousanna1 day ago ( 0 ) Fleeting Restraints. By themischievousanna3 days ago ( 0 ) Every Shadow had its Crevice. By themischievousanna6 days ago ( 0 ) 2 comments › GENERATION NOW February 13, 2016 • 5:43 am Hurting so bad! Intense LikeLiked by 1 person Reply ↓ themischievousanna February 13, 2016 • 6:12 am Pain has that quality for sure, thank you! LikeLike Reply ↓ Leave a Reply Cancel reply Enter your comment here... Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Email (required) (Address never made public) Name (required) Website You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change ) You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change ) Cancel Connecting to %s Notify me of new comments via email.