I'm not actually 99, I just don't really want my actual age on here |
edit: This poem might trigger someone.
I don't want that, so I'm putting this warning...
The petals fall,
strumming the thin skin of the drum...
As soft as smoke, the fire came
trailing through the daffodils...
I'm full of the fear of regret
So I give up on things I could get...
If you take out all the anger
And you lay it on your skin...
If you can't handle me at my best, you definitely can't handle me at my worst |