We still hold onto this room.
not letting go, never.
Complete recollection of past dreams.
Past hopes, and the idea of a future.
A now we hoped to actually live.
Old wall paper and cracked hardwood floors,
This is where hope is slaughtered.
This is where I died.
The bed rots into the floor below me.
The windows smashed,
a leak to the world outside.
The world we lived once,
and not again.
This mirror is cracked, and rusted.
But I still see myself in it.
Perfect reflection of what was.
And what will never be again.
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Comments
This masterpiece, in which you call shit truly awesome.
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Do the world a favor, shut up.
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A 'bore' is someone who deprives you solitude without providing you with company - Gian Vincenzo Gravina
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Do the world a favor, shut up.
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A 'bore' is someone who deprives you solitude without providing you with company - Gian Vincenzo Gravina
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