It hurts. A life long since lost just barely in my grasp, however only just far enough away to be impossible to reach. The pain I feel when I see it is real. It's a sight for sore eyes, and my aching heart bleeds when I think of how things used to be.
I feel a longing wish to fix what has been broken, shattered and scattered into the relentlessly violent storm of clustering clouds and pelting rain. But how do you fix something that is unwilling to let you try?
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Unprofessional Poems
PoetryJust poems that were written by a teenager who does really know what she's doing. Please read. I promise they're not terrible- just unprofessional, and sometimes kind of angsty.
