Boredom has past
I am now reminiscing
on running low on breath
blowing bubbles, near death
I sit smelling fabric
my first world life is tragic
I ponder worlds of magic
I sing songs and I write them
I can't sleep on time, can't wake up either
my tree has bloomed along with my forgotten talents
I forgot I was capable of making masterpieces, I guess siting at a desk 24/7 kills your creativity. I do miss my friends but in the end I just miss being buy.
I miss being stressed
I miss thinking I'm not the best
I miss debating with piers
I miss shelving books
I miss having attention
