Some days are good, some days are bad.
Some days I can hear the laughter echoing through the walls, the murmurs of excitement, the gleaming eyes of people that surround me.
Some days I feel the happiness.
Other days are different. I hear scraps of paper being crumpled, I see mouths moving but not a sound is coming out.
Those days make my head pound, they make my heart beat faster than it should be. They make drops of water escape my eyes. They make the weather colder, the sky grayer.
Black appears on my already dark face.
Those days depress me.
Those days absolutely and terribly suck.
YOU ARE READING
Wasteland
PoetryThings you'd throw in the garbage. In a wasteland. To rip until death. And that's okay.
