(SN; A story about a sleep deprived person, currently fatigued of carrying group members, and tired from emotions. and no this isn't a part of The Encyclopaedia, I don't think this is worthy enough to be in the same book that those amazing people are in)
I'm curious about what people think of me,
not that I seek validation,
but because I seek one thing badly;
truth and clarification.
Because truthfully I dont know who I am at times,
I'm not even sure if I have an identity.
Have I gone through my teenage prime?
Am I just a named entity?
Am I a lover?
Am I a friend?
Am I a happy four leave clover,
who's sometimes a bellend?
What if I disappear,
into the nothingness of space?
Will people notice my absence?
Will things go out of place?
As the evening threatens to set,
perhaps I should close my eyes,
so that I'll try not to ruin this poem,
fuck it I'm curcimcized.
YOU ARE READING
Diary of An Eccentric
Rastgelebecause I can't get a stupid pen. Sidenote; Welcome to my weird journal. I should warn you every kind of written content could get itself into here; from stories with characters, poems and even to my opinions. Also, thank you for reading this and I...
