Synthetic.. we all are
It hit again. This awful truth. Like a poison reaching my heart. No antidote. What's left? Sit and endure. Hard wishing upon a starless night. I don't know why it eats at me so. My heart's an apple. I rotted months ago. No one of this should bother me(<--that's me saying two things when I only meant to share one). I told myself I was done with it. If I could convince myself that I was fine, haven't I come that much close to being okay? Not that I'm not.. I will. The morning always brings a new face. And if not, I prefer paper over plastic.