Chapter Seventeen:
For the New Year's Eve party, I decide to write a poem. The only things I usually think about are death and loneliness. I feel like I should write a poem about being happy. But at this point, I'm not quite sure I remember how to feel happy anymore.
And I'm not sure if I'm getting delirious before death, but honestly, Trim is looking more and more attractive each day.
Yeah, I'm definitely delirious.
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Thirteen
Teen FictionShe's waiting for the day when she can sink the knife a little deeper, throw herself down a little farther. She is tired. She wants rest. She is waiting. He's waiting for the day when his stomach shrinks into nothingness, until he can take his last...
