Ink drips from my eyes like rain from the sky
As I spill my emotions on this old parchment...
Dig deep. The quiet
days are still there...
Sitting here
working...
Dear therapist,
When you ask me...
I don't want to speak in circles anymore,
and lose visitors in my colourless corridors...
I'm crippled by
the pain, and fear...
They call me the favorite, the perfect child;
Their words biting at my fragile skin...
Outside my window
a man and his dog stroll by...
Orange city lights frame the dark road ahead
As I speed along the empty highway...
At 2:36 a.m., I try to
to figure out why depression...
¿Y si le digo que la quiero?
La espantar...
Mate.
This is so so hard to write...