Raindrops on roses,
And the blood drops on linens,
Razors and long sleeves,
That keep my scars hidden,
Jumping off buildings,
Like birds without wings,
Those are few of my favorite things,
Pale white complexions,
And graveyards with ditches,
Dark rooms with locked doors,
And bodies with stitches,
Feeling the pain,
And the high that it brings,
Theses are few of my favorite things,
Friends in black dresses,
With bouquets of flowers,
The band aids, and the gauze,
And the burning from the showers,
The thought of not living,
To see the next spring,
These are few of my favorite things,
In the long nights,
When their words sting,
And I'm feeling sad,
I just turn into,
One of my favorite things,
And then I don't feel so bad.
YOU ARE READING
Some Sad Stories
NouvellesIf you ever need help you can text home/hello to 741741 they can and will help you to the best of their abilities All people ever want is to know someone cares but all can't see that people around them care with all their heart. This is a b...
