Here I am, writing poems in a rainstorm like I'm Poe or something. I'd honestly rather be asleep, now and most of the time. Don't get me wrong, I love poetry, and I love rain, and also I'm not depressed, I swear. It's just I can't really **** anything up when I'm asleep. But as soon as my eyes are open (though not really open), I start waging war on love like it hurt me or something. No, when I'm asleep I can only dream of it.
Who was your ******* rock? The one you relied on when others relied on you? I was the keystone who kept you together and kept the others together unbeknownst to them. I was the bandage sealing the wound from the bacteria of the world, from the ill thoughts and mean-spirited things of the world. I was your ******* crutch that supported you and helped you stand upright in this world. But just like a crutch, like a bandage, I was discarded once the problem was summarily handled. I hope you bleed out next time.
This is the first thing I've written in months. Nothing like anger to make someone impassioned, heh? Either way, I just had to get something out or this was going to eat me up.
Happiness is as easy and as free as watching three little, cuddly puppies- one brown, one white and one sandy, rolling on the sand on the street side and breaking out in unexpected smile at the innocence in nature after you had a ****** night of battling your existential crisis.