after dark beautiful things grow and fester, kissing your mouth, eviscerating your insides.

all my smol poetry...

here is a collection of short stories that i have documented as i slouch through each and every day. looking back on these words now nearly makes me cringe; i've realized that i have wasted too much of me, too many of my words on people who don't deserve them. i have also realized that i should not and will no longer claim victory, as time has proven that once the exit of one labyrinth appears, the entrance to another is just around the corner. i often find myself at war with my need to pick up a pen, the voices in my head that demand i give up, and my desperate attempts to grasp onto someone who i believe can save me. yet i still find myself writing. for what or who, i doubt i'll ever know, but this is all i have.