Could an imaginary friend feel as real as your touch on my skin? You whisper those lies in a melody I've never heard before, in a jingle that I was cursed to have replayed in my head a million times. It became my anthem, the death you wished upon me.
(d.r.)
YOU ARE READING
Black & Poisonous
Poetry"She had 50 days left to live. She had 5000 words left to say." A compilation of 50-word poems by a child who longed to see a better future than the one they've set for themselves. Each piece takes 12 seconds to read. #833 - 27/05/17 #687 - 28/05...
