- - -
I cannot breathe. You've slathered them with your red, rubbing your essence into the skin.
You've been ruining the art since it left the museum.
And perhaps when I look back on this I will not recognize the meaning, but the words will still remind me of the shattered porcelain.
But perhaps I cannot even hope for that.
All they do is laugh and laugh and I'm in the dark choking and it's not quite fair but I fail to change anything.
I miss what I had.
I'm so lonely.
YOU ARE READING
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.
