Its not even april and youre dying a little perhaps in more disasterous ways than I can see through your unexpected more so suddenly hooded eyes.
Its that time of the year. And im left alone to fend your monsters off because you left after a slight warning and it'll be some time till you come back to me. Every time you leave i whisper to myself "come back to me" but i know its wishful thinking.
Its that time of the year where I'm strong with my eyes full of tears and im left to fend off my blackness and yours.
Its ok. I've learnt better after 4 years but I've understood lesser by the year.
YOU ARE READING
My Boring Escapades.
Poetry"Breaking free from the thoughts of others." Not alot makes sense in this book. Its not supposed too. They most definitely might be terrible, its just my way of keeping track of things I write no matter how terrible. These are unedited, theyre only...
