i ought a die my hair and move to a different state. maybe then my dreams
wouldn't seem morbid. maybe then i could kiss someone new. pretending to
be happy was never my specialty. buried within the pages of old yearbooks
are examples of my cover ups. i signed yours in photography class but you
were absent that day, missing from the hallway. today seems closer and
closer to fading away.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment