Don't think, breath. Or, maybe do think. Think more. But not like that. Think in textbooks and comprehensible words, not mashes of scribbles that never seem to be placed right. It's messy but not right. Maybe I need a darker pencil, Maybe paints would be better?
Thick or thin lines
Does it even matter it's never right..
This is why I don't start things.
YOU ARE READING
Fuck You, Nicely
PoetryOne finding themselves, ups and downs; streams of melancholy and yearning of the heart. Contains time stamps of a life that seem to fade too fast and rants through life lessons I often forget. There might be some triggers with eating and just mental...
