----
“It smells of grass, and sun, and cinnamon buns,
And warm mornings with a hint of flowers.”
--
“Summer.” She said. “How smooth, how pure, how sweet.”
“ Refreshing like the pink lemonade that rests upon sunsets.”
--
“So?? Everything's still dyed in orange.”
--
“What's wrong?”
“What's wrong?” I paused. “I'm laying in the heat of my own puddle of blood.”
--
“Sad,” she thought, “but I had never heard anything more beautiful.”
“‘There is no tomorrow.’”
--
---Created by uNEXPECTEDfires
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Accounts of (a) Probably-Not-So-Normal Teenager(s)
RandomThere's a lot to life. I'm just here to share my thoughts. --- Message me if you want an entry of yours put up here; it can be anything from a crappy poem you came up with, or just something interesting you thought of a while ago.
