Somewhere along the way I dropped something. I can't remember what it is. I don't even remember the exact time. But for sure I dropped something. I wish I were told when I did. But who else can I blame but myself.
In a world full with pretense that everything is okay, being the the bleeding pen doesn't hurt as bad. Spilling ink as if there was an unlimited source of ink. Spilling like there is no tomorrow.
The color looks so beautiful as the sunlight hits the ink.
It feels good to feel something other than pure bliss and the occasional frustration. It feels like I am alive. I have fallen off cloud nine only to be met by broken glass. I didn't see it coming. It hurts a little, maybe a lot. It felt like a sting. No, more like the reaper somehow took a piece of my heart.
I whisper to myself, I will be okay. I have to be, because a broken heart could be my demise.
In a world full with pretense that everything is okay, being the the bleeding pen doesn't hurt as bad. Spilling ink as if there was an unlimited source of ink. Spilling like there is no tomorrow.
The color looks so beautiful as the sunlight hits the ink.
It feels good to feel something other than pure bliss and the occasional frustration. It feels like I am alive. I have fallen off cloud nine only to be met by broken glass. I didn't see it coming. It hurts a little, maybe a lot. It felt like a sting. No, more like the reaper somehow took a piece of my heart.
I whisper to myself, I will be okay. I have to be, because a broken heart could be my demise.
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