Cold tears stain the skin of the suicidal kids. Stuffed noses and blank expressions cover the joy yet to flow. When urges pass and gain once again scraps of paper end up in the bin each beginning with "I'm sorry".
But how so you write a letter of that sort? The rest of their life's worth of coping can't be placed on a crumpled piece of loose leaf. Not one thing stops the dominos from collapsing. Solace is unobtainable, but the butterfly effect has proven existent.
Sit back down, maybe next time you'll work up the nerve;
or maybe you'll learn to toss away your paper and pen.
YOU ARE READING
Fractured Thoughts
Short Story(VERY PROMINENT TRIGGER WARNING. TOPICS DISCUSSED IN HERE COULD POSSIBLY BE VERY TOXIC. READ AT YOUR OWN WILL.) From the mass of my brain, things tend to come up from moments of darkness. This brings out the inspiration for writing and therefore, th...
