I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2 am, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks. I am a broken window during winters February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people. That I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin have become a storm. You don't see the lightnight but you hear the echoes that have scarred into my skin.
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An extract from a book i'll never write | Poetry |
PoetryJust a lonely teenager in love, struggeling with emotions and wanting the end to come sooner rather than later :( i want to love but i just dont want to hurt them if i love one then i will hurt the other. So please forgive me, i can't hold back my...
