In my chest, there is a heavy feeling, a sensation of sadness. It comes and goes, always over staying my welcome. It crushes the hopes and dreams I cradle and holds me down. I distance myself from others in hopes of its plague not spreading, only to find it tearing me apart more. Turning to others in hopes of ridding myself of it hasn't worked much either. It creates a restlessness amongst them, causing them to think about what could be wrong with me.
A feather lays suspended in the air, a glistening white. Around it, a thick dust swirls, taunting the owner of the feather, threating to stain it and bring it unto itself.
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Unfinished pieces for Mediocre
De TodoJust parts of my story Mediocre that I never finished and probably never will so they're here instead.
