It's difficult to feel,and I don't think I'm capable of writing about subjects I don't even have a feeling associated to.I want to shout out that I'm not as fine as I seem,but my tongue ties itself in knots,my throat gets dry and my guts growl as they eat me up.
Is dying inside a type of suicide? Someone give me an answer because,after spending my lifetime in hell,I don't want to keep silent to end up in another.
***
I like to think that I'm divergent,the mockingbird.I like to think that I'm special like a hand-made bonfire with three different shades of unruly,but I guess I'm purely - and nothing more than just - average,mediocre.I ponder of the meaning of intelligence and knowledge,I ponder if a giant public prision knows really how to measure anyone's intelligence and afterwards judge it properly.I guess not,but in my school there's this girl that probably isn't familiar with the world as it is,that probably doesn't suffer nor finds joy inbetween verses,and she has had - almost - the same grades as I.I guess that is not our intelligence being tested,is our memory,and it's not intelligence we have in common it's our memory.But that's already too-much-for-me-to-explain to my teacher and I'll still have the same grades,regardless.
But at the end of the day I do realize this and she probably does not,and she probably doesn't write either,so I guess I am special,not much,but for a kiddo I'm a bomb ready to be activated and split in deadly pieces,pieces which will leave a mark
or maybe not leave at all.
YOU ARE READING
Glory & Gore
No FicciónMia is a normal girl,or so you think.Mia kathryn is 17 years old and is,in fact,an unique girl.when she finds her old notebook she keeps it and starts dragging it everywhere she goes.haunted by who she is,who she wants to be and who her ghosts tell...
