Dec 2016
my thoughts are blue.
my bruises are green.
all you do is
scream scream scream.
broken fingers.
misplaced trust.
my conscience is beginning to rust.
it sits idly in the swamps of my mind.
i pretend that's just fine.
my bruises are green.
all you do is
scream scream scream.
broken fingers.
misplaced trust.
my conscience is beginning to rust.
it sits idly in the swamps of my mind.
i pretend that's just fine.
i always forget how terrible of a writer i am until i try to write again.
