Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Tippity Twitchet

In my quiet moments, I often feel utterly hopeless. The future, a blank canvas that however I approach filling, looks nothing but foreboding. My loud moments are just a stupid way of coping. Whatever I said, I was probably joking. The laughter I emitted was only to mask the sound of this useless old heart of mine slowly closing and choking on the bitter memories of to whom it was opened. In pain it's dripping, absolutely soaking.

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