These past few shorts have been shit because they were written in my journal. I'm lazy and my hand cramps a lot. I don't describe when I physically write in a journal. Fuck that. Also perfection above.
Thunk.
Another head fell.
Scrick.
Another blade met my own.
Drip.
Another wound was torn into raw flesh.
Thunk.
Another head fell.
Is it so hard these days to find a good opponent? The least they could do after tying me down as their little pet assassin was to give me something fun to play with! Mr. King and Mrs. Queen believed they had me right in their palms. But in reality, they were the ones dancing under my claws, oblivious to my schemes. They were the trickster's mask, concealing the evil that they hid under lock and key. But now I was ready. He has been awakened once more by the malevolent greed emanating from this world. But this time, I'll be the one to take him.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND I'm done til Monday (if I remember my journal (I won't. I don't remember shit.)). K bai.
ESTÀS LLEGINT
Mmhmm I'm Bored
PoesiaThose little things that pop into your head that you can't help but write down. I suppose it could be counted as freeform poetry-ish. Cover by the exalted @FableWrites.
