Pulsatilla to help. Distant from. Persistent smoke pouring. Photo of boredom. Soho and never. Ending because I feel like I'm gonna throw up this neon peering through the hair, the shakes. **** it's cold.
perhaps today i'll get out of bed. perhaps today i'll eat breakfast other than a stale poptart or an old granola bar. perhaps today i'll speak to someone other than in choked whispers ending in silent tears or angry screams ending in sobs. perhaps today i'll write something down instead of letting it ricochet around my head for weeks before forgetting i even thought of it. perhaps today i'll stop painting myself the hero in an entirely made up reality when i am in fact the villain of my story trapping myself in a paper cage filled with my own words. perhaps.
Maybe you will wake up one day and feel this way too Maybe you won't Maybe you will wake up one day and think about my smile first thing Maybe you won't Maybe you will wake up one day and all you will hear is my laugh on repeat Maybe you won't Maybe you will wake up one day and think about how you wish it was me But you probably won't