It's so hard to go into the real world. To leave my bedroom and enter society. I see the crime scene everytime. A reminder of your murder. Blood and bleach stained roads ; where my mother tried to cleanse your crimson shed. A reminder of that night. The night where my mother came rushing in weeping with the news of your passing. My sister and I rushed out there. It all just seemed so unreal to be true. My sister sat beside your limp body and her and I both wept as you bleed out of your head. My father filled with so much anger. It's so hard going out into Gods gorgeous creation and not seeing you playing with Pepe or annoying the crap out of Bella or even begging for food. The murder scene in front of my very own home and your grave. I can't help but to look over and think of that night. Why is it so hard? I look over as the car pulls out of the driveway and I think of you. That horrible night. I miss you so much. Why is it harder this time? It felt as if you were my own, what's in a name if you're reminded of it everyday by your own culture.
XII XXVIII MMXVI
RIP my beloved sweet Rice Cakes
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The Journal
AléatoireThese are my writings. My writings that are very close to my heart and mean a lot to me. Some aren't things I've written but things I felt rather fit per say. Anyways please vote and thank you for the read 😊
