I had become accustomed. Night after night my subconscious was plagued with dreams. The strange, the hellish, the absolute batshit crazy that makes you wish you'd never sleep again.
By Mika B6 years ago in Poets
I stared off into the distance, wondering yet again what my purpose was. What is the point of life? Why do we do all the things we do?
I want to write but... Nothing? Why. Not. ? I keep looking for a purpose in every cell block that encases my mind and I'm stumbling.
I'm the glue that holds people together, but now I've lost my stick, And now no one wants me because I've turned to ick. What I used to do so well I can no longer do,
I was a watermelon in the summer glazed sun. Ripe, juicy, full of wonder and exhilaration; for I was so sweet, my innocence intact.