3:12 a.m.
there's a weight on my chest; an undying guilt
a sort of torment that presses against my ribs and my aching head
such boundless and ardent anger shouldn't exist
but is there not a noble beauty in loving beyond its limits til hatred takes its place?
.s
YOU ARE READING
it's 5 a.m. now
Poetrya taste of everything that has made life a little more bitter and on rare occasions; a little sweeter | just an informal way to get thoughts out, i guess
