Dear Adam,
"but drinking cough syrup when you didn't have a cough is ironic because in reality your sicker then you thought," ~flatsound
I've been getting into the bad croud lately and going to ravers. I get drunk almost every day. And now I write poems all the time. I'm becoming this monster that I never wanted to become.
I mean the vodka it floods my veins just like you flood my brain. It numbs me so I don't have to hurt anymore. And everytime the bottle touches my lips thoughts of you go away. My problems fly out the window. This toxic drink fills this hole in my heart where your love used to be.
I can tell Sawyer is getting disgusted of me. He hates when I sneakly empty the flask into my Hi C, or when I mixed crushed pills into my coke, or maybe it's when I drunknly call him. I guess I miss your love so much I have to find faceless guys who can give me the same feeling of passion only if it's fo a few minutes. I'm trying so hard to get you out of my head.
I don't even know anymore,
Bailey :(
YOU ARE READING
Dear Adam, (#2 in series)
Teen FictionIn which an unfixable girl writes to a dead boy. "You were a hurricane ," {Sequel to "Dear Bailey,"} WARNING: story may be a trigger
