It hurts me to think that my friends see me as a kitchen sink; my mind drip, dripping down the drain where it will dampen, then decay.
No, I'm set ablaze, like this carpet in my room, I'm ready to dare the forbidden fruit.
I have no fear anymore - I have no feeling anymore. Only this rush, this kick, this fire in my veins.
I imagine it looks just like my mind's decay.
Mine doesn't drip-drop, it doesn't rot - it becomes a beacon, a grounding stone, the home I never had.
All I can do is watch the fire as it eats my house away.
My parents are too busy to be here, to busy to stop the decay.
So I'll just watch, instead, feeding this fire.
Feed it. Feed it. Feed it.
It all started with an amusing match game.
ᴿᵁˢᵀᴱᴰ ᴮᴼᵞ
YOU ARE READING
PinPoint - A collection of short stories
Random-Mature A collection of short stories.* *This book is the book that I request feedback from especially. I don't really care about votes and whatnot, but please, PLEASE comment. Examples are "I would do..." or "That was..." or "Wow, he/she is..." etc...
