The fake wings he tried to make became a burden. Tapes weren't strong enough. I am left with few lifeless pages and ink pouring out of my spine.
This is my instinct.
The womb I was made in had flowers.
The hospital had blood.
The world had colours.
And my room had darkness and one fake orange flower kept in a green vase with white leaves on my desk.
My mother had placed it ...hoping for a better day.
I am my own guardian.
Orange = Sacrifice.
■■□□■■
P/N: *Phew* Why am I even doing this??? I don't know.
I still have a ray of J hope. ;)
