Klo Aanderson
Bio
A random scribble in an eventful adolescent life. A personal journal of growth, demons, and soft glorious cotton-padded happiness.
Stories (4/0)
Pretty Bad Boy
I have a pain in my chest. Pretty bad pretty bad pretty bad pretty boy. Old town bankrupts poorly uneducated in what to invest. Newborn baby future solution, future baby future problem. Pickle eater, shaky hands, bloody nightmares of his favorite bands. Smart jokes never land, and dumb folks who no one stands. Crooked walk, crooked talk, next door neighbor often stalks. City in lights dark allies filled with frights, slow moments ruin lives. Tipsy drinker, barely walks, is another victim mocked. Steady handle steady handle tea drinkers set fire in New Castle. Lives were lost, but did business suffer a buffer in sales? No, but who cares it was just a girl for wales. Good thing no one cared, no more charges, I'm glad dead people tell no tales.
By Klo Aanderson6 years ago in Poets
Life
Life is a game created by unamused sadistic gods. We are their betting pawns, gamble chips, set in this cruel world. Everything pure and innocent will be challenged and broken down at the start of birth. Some are born with it all and some destined to suffer since their first breath. Players can always choose to quit early by a self-inflicted death. Some pity them in awe and remorse while the cold-hearted scoff at the whimsy departure. On the serious note, suicide or self-harm is not laughing stock, but perhaps being as they are laughing stock desensitizes the disclosed severity of it all. Others battle on, barring up their foolish hearts. Everyone is in pain—the causes similar yet personalized—and everyone sought out for relief. Some find the kicks as their temporal antidote.
By Klo Aanderson6 years ago in Poets
