I remember a poem I once wrote. Not the words. But the plot, if you will. He sent her letters. He got rejected. He never loved again. But I now realize the ending wasn't clear enough. He loved her so much that when she said no to him, he killed himself. You can have you own opinions of my poem. And if it was a stupid reason to end someone's life, fine. My point is, love is the strongest weapon and the most addicting drug...no one has found a cure for the aftermath yet.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of a depressed teen.
Historia CortaContains depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm references, and my strong opinions about everything I'm angry about at the time of which I write each chapter. This is just how I feel my life is going right now.
