Visions of swirls in the middle of class.
Swallowing in horror. Not knowing how to act.
The class stares at her in disgust, disapproval.
Running out of the room blinded by whirls.
Tears of blood raining down her cheeks.
Piercing sobs of the future hours, days, weeks.
Praying to God to make it all stop.
Tripping down the stairs from the very top.
Falling into the ground face-first.
Blood filling her mouth, quenching thirst.
Scared to death of such a cursed gift.
This is the life of a teenage psychic.
AN: This is probably my favourite poem of mine in a long time. I hope you guys enjoy! Vote and comment!
