Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2016 · 292
music
n o b o d y May 2016
Music adds meaning to my life.

No lyrics.
May 2016 · 321
criticism
n o b o d y May 2016
Afraid to share the things I make.

I throw them away.
May 2016 · 389
late love
n o b o d y May 2016
I met this girl.

She’s far from perfect but I love her.

I’m far from perfect but she loves me.

We’re really happy.

We never fought about a thing.

I'm really happy.

We’re planning for after college.

We spend our time apart FaceTiming.

I'm nervous.

September goes by.

October goes by.

November goes by.

January comes.

I lost my virginity.

We love each other more every day.

February goes by.

We fight about college.

We fight about loyalty.

We fight about faith.

We make up.

March comes.

We fight.

And fight.

And fight.

I start to doubt.

Why does this have to happen to me.

We're sad.

She won't text me.

She's mad.

I can't sleep.

April comes.

We fight.

April goes by.

Everyday feels like a lie.

I forget who she is.

I forget what we had.

I don’t know whats real from fiction anymore.

Everything is fiction.

I’m lost.

I miss January.

Found love at the end of senior year.

We planned a life together.

We're going to separate colleges.

Now I’m doubting everything.

I feel like she’s lying to me all the time.

Everyone is out to get me.

I don’t think she ever loved me.

But we were so perfect.

It doesn’t make any sense to me.

We were set.

Thoughts of college worries me.

Separation worries me.

Being alone again worries me.

Started worrying about her loyalty.

I just want to die.

I feel like everyone is out to get me.

Nothing is real anymore.

There is no god.

I’m scaring myself.

Yet I’m comfortable.

What was that scar about.

She looks at me different.

Who does she text.

Who does she love.

Who am I anymore.

I was never like this.

It was never about pity.

Everyone is out to get me.

I can’t hear anymore.

I can’t see.

I’m growing more blind and deaf everyday.

Mentally and literally.

Music blasts in my eardrums.

I need another surgery.

Who does she love.

Music makes me feel sane.

Who loves me?

I want to die.

My identity is compromised.

— The End —