I write about you a lot,
I'm not sure which words are the exact notes to this melody of self pity and desperate search of rightness,
but — I fancy, blindly, they're only right when they're about you.
YOU ARE READING
existence within earth
PoetryPoetry in words of a mess, written throughout years of my teenage angst that continues. "Shall wisdom and hell be spoken when my ink turns into blood"
t w o
I write about you a lot,
I'm not sure which words are the exact notes to this melody of self pity and desperate search of rightness,
but — I fancy, blindly, they're only right when they're about you.