*this poem is based on a book I read. You won't get it unless you read the entire series. It's in the point of view of Seymour in the book Thirst by Christopher Pike*
Heartbreak and blood thrown around chemically processed trees.
Unable to see reality from a fantasy.
Not sure if it's real or in my head.
Laying down dying in this bed.
Waiting for a blonde hair immortal savior, 5,000 years of age.
