I wasted my ink, I wasted paper, I wasted my time writing about us and thinking about you, for what? And after you left, the ink ran through my veins poisoning every word and the poems weren't love poems anymore, the words were dark, the words hurt and they hurt me just as much as the day you told me you couldn't do this anymore~
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts From A Story I'll Never Write
Short StoryThis isn't a short story or a story at all. Just a couple of sentences I put together at 2 A.M., each 'chapter' is completely different but it's probably about the same thing which I've found different ways to write about.