The roads are my home. Where I belong. It seems like I'm just born to live there. There's a scent that reminds me of my family, my actual family. My real home is nothing, it's just full of anger and frustration every time I walk in the front door. I'm not loved and welcomed there, like the roads do. Sometimes I sleep there and my foster parents don't even care where I am. My neighbours called the police one night because she heard screams from me getting beaten by my father, by not calling him "sir". But my mother always said this when I was little; at the end of dreadful rainfall there is always a beautiful rainbow.
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Plastic Roads
AdventureWhatever I do I'm not alone, my sham roads seem to be there, like anyone else. In this earth I'm hated, but it's okay cause I have my unnatural roads just standing there. The only words that comes out if their mouths are "Shameful, ugly, unwanted, d...
