honestly i lost the joy that comes from opening presents from a big bearded man which - now that I think about it - is creepy. i grew up and situations became worse to the point where christmas is full of horrible memories - three christmases spent homeless, one spent fearing for my life, and many of them pretending things weren't as bad as they were. basically, i spent this one alone because that way nothing can hurt me again.
a shard of broken glass will not lie and tell you it won't hurt you. if you mess around with broken glass, you already know you could get injured... yet why is it that a piece of glass is more honest than a human?
I am simply not going to see things the same f-cking way as you do and that scares the f*ck out of me. Not to be coy. Not to tease you with an asterisk. Not to censor my feelings. Not to frustrate you. Not to make you go "don't do that" Do not ******* test me.
I am a careless wanderer my mother before me the same when we think that we finally have a permanent home suddenly we are lifted by the backs of our necks and put back on the road because careless wanderers don't get to live comfortably careless wanderers can't live like normal people careless wanderers sleep with men who try to **** them and go back and go back and go back to him mother goes back to him because at least he has money. At least he pays our bills. It doesn't matter that he tried to take out my mum's eye because he puts food on the table that she could have worked for herself... I want him to die.
I am from an early morning where's stars unknown have yet to be seen in the lightening of the sky, but I do so hope that you see me and you look at me and say hello for I am among stars unknown.
Today I held my sword above my head, no man with wisdom can save me now the world decided to fight against me but my will is strong my rage grows and I control this place.
Childhood is like snuggling in a big, warm blanket. Then, as I grow older, I lay my arms over the top. I become an adult, and the blanket is ripped away from me, just like my mum used to do when I wouldn't wake up to my alarm. Quick, and cold. I shiver.
Will you ever love me? Will you ever come to me, and tell me how long you've waited to see me? Likely not. But I will dream. I will dream of your words.
I am always running out of time I am running down a spiral staircase the hands following me and spinning in a way I can't quite describe besides quick and skilled because it goes on forever I can hardly take a break before the hands catch back up to me and I am on the run again.