What makes me a writer?
Crying for 4 hours then skipping lunch.
Making me suffer midst of worse to sooth the open.
Reading whilst crying when the book is the least reason to cry for but first to comfort, to distract.
When the world turns too cruel to be true,i torture myself to feel less of it and more of myself.
This sadism of life and living, makes me a writer.
YOU ARE READING
Please,me.
PoetryInsane to my sanity. Whiffs of pleasure and being purposely named the same.Run and cry,cry and run. Live around this world,life will chase you down.
