Sharp cuts mean nothing on thin skins. Bound to happen is stated, bound to kill the mood once again. The mood is defined always as cheerful unless they get hurt, I'm then over backwards to make them smile. What am I to you other than just filler? My pain shines through and you take off running.
Apathy comes from being left too many times though the silent cries for help going ignored still fire shots into my chest infinite times over. What is my suffering to you other than an excuse to pack your things and leave?
My jokes and stupid topics still fill the room when moral drops. My overdramatic hand gestures and stories cover up the awkwardness still. I'd never let them hit the ground. You'd never tell I've been there for months. So what am I to you other than just filler?
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...
