the break hardly a break.
worked to pulp the boy was juiced and his dreams all dripped away at the sound of atleast 6 fucking more months. how the hell to deal? a wall reminds of winter and how something didn't work out the way he's hoped well should have fucking knew. a slide should have been a little more fatal, artistically and beautiful and but oh, how he wouldn't be there to see it. rather, it goes on, not easily, but it does just to have its way. he hates them. one thing he's lived for ripped apart of his pathetic life, and he chokes fucking twisting alone every damn night -- it's their fault. it's his fault. the fuck if he knows. you know he'll put the blame on both equally, it's easier that way. love existed before the fucking hate hate hate ruin and he's stumped on this rather mind-blowing equation. he looks to hurt, the things that leave the best tracks are these things. words had been spit and taken and he loved it because atleast someone had been there to show him REAL things and it fucking hurt but it was real. tick tock tick tock motha fucking BOOM.
this boy holds himself on the floor of a bathroom floor streaming of tears and then in a shower sitting there seeing himself flowing amongst the surface of the drain, away to a place that does not even exist. he's alone, he's scared, and FUCK he's angry.
this boy holds himself on the floor of a bathroom floor streaming of tears and then in a shower sitting there seeing himself flowing amongst the surface of the drain, away to a place that does not even exist. he's alone, he's scared, and FUCK he's angry.