They won't forgive me, or will I not forgive myself?
I made a wish upon a falling star
And
It brought me nothing but misery
The machine hungers, fed by booming shots
And blood
And luck
It is fed constantly
It's chewing, metallic and vile,
And still it brings more comfort
Then the chance of hell below
YOU ARE READING
The Pointless Book
RandomJust a collection of pointless thoughts from a pointless girl
