it's 1:19am and I'm covered in pencil lead and I'm trying fucking TRYING to turn her into a poem or art or a masterpiece but my edges are all wrong and my words are fumbled and my fingers are shaking and she's impossible, just impossible to keep on paper because nothing is ethereal enough to touch her and my pencil simply breaks when I even think about her.
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I didn't write this now this is an older one from like last week
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thoughts, poems and teenage shit
Poesíamy mind is interesting I can assure you this but take a minute to try this out and maybe you'll like it?
