Rat Garden. Not fair, but fitting.

There is a girl that sways in the trees. One that doesn’t catch the breeze.

Going on confused.

Sincerely, yours, Is what she wrote.

The midnight called from afar. Dragging its nails along the scar,

Do I know what I’m doing yet? Nope

Turnover had just ended and I was heading home through the streets. Cars littered the streets and the sound of sirens was non stop this late. The lights were way too bright nowadays and the, mostly pi...

Why do I give myself praise for my own ability to feel superior? Yet when I cry I refuse myself this.