Writing is my disease. I swear it's terminal. |
Am I good enough yet?
As my tears create streaks down my face...
Looking in the mirror
I can't tell what I see...
I hate you
I hate me...
When I was little my daddy told me
I'd be okay...
Not quite true
not quite lies...
I am only as much as my emptiest part
Where the cold, brittle fragments remain of my...
I'm not okay and everything hurts
I have no one at my back...
I look for a way out of my self constructed prison
A small crack in the wall of self doubt and self...
No amount of time or space is enough to throw me so far from you that I can escape the love I will hold in my heart forever. |
Your apology is insincere and uninteresting, as is the rest of you. |
No. You're wrong. So just sit there in your wrongness and be wrong. |