I don't remember writing that poem. But reading over it now makes me afraid. For god's sake it's like there's a demon possessing my mind, controlling me like a fucking puppet! I.... I'm normally not one to use such foul language. This is just the fear talking, sending me into these continual downward spirals. When will the horror end? When can I be left alone?
YOU ARE READING
Proxy
Historia CortaIt started with a journal, a small, stupid journal. And now it seems the world is crashing down on me. And all I have to prove myself, to show people I exist, is that book. And now that you are reading my story, I pray to God you don't share the sam...
