Monday, April 21, 2014

most appear and fade away

I'm this close to being done.



Who am I kidding.
Why was I trying.
Who am I kidding. I'm not a writer.

The worst is having a broken heart but no one even realized they broke it.
Then you are mad.
Anger pushes up inside of you and you wanna just throw every thing you own out on the table and say "Take it! You can have all of it. I don't want me anymore."

The pieces of you are scattered.
You can do nothing.
No good.
No bad.
You just sit.

Fade away. Sink lower into the dirt you were made from.
You want to be forgotten. So nobody can remember when you failed.

I'm not a writer. I just talk too much.