She talked like oxygen, needing and surviving off it. Through the years she used every letter combination making every kind of word to make long sentences she turned into paragraphs and it's like she kept writes pages filling in the space In her head. Maybe if she talked enough the voices in her head would stop but she only had so many pages left. As years went by she ran out and her once long rambling mouth speaks only choppy short unfinished sentences no one got, people asking questions why she stopped? But her answer was so short it seized to exsist. As so was she in the world of unbelievable things.
YOU ARE READING
teenage fools
PoetryI write poetry about life, death, love, hurt, depression, and basically everything.
