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Anger courses thro my veins of the fallen,i express not my feelings seen crestfallen. Pain is the poison which gets me thro each day. I try to act hapy and wear a mask to hide my dismay,bt unclear my seemily unbreable happinesS. I wither in hate at home alone, hidden under books or in a drawer lies my fwend an fate, a blade of bright and blood staind steel,the exhalting an all consumin pain is al i wish to feel,everyday to me is grim existence that continues to taunt me with unrelenting persistence. . .
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Loved 6 times
