sick. that's what you make me. sick. not the hatred sick, or the physical sick, but the heart sick. every sight of you sends me further and further into my illness, until i feel like i'm drowning. drowning in your eyes, your smile, your heart. you. i'm falling into you. nobody is going to love me like i hope you will someday. i feel like dying every time i see you. like this sickness is overwhelming me and there's nothing i can do but keep digging myself in deeper.
~ l. b.
YOU ARE READING
Stories That I Write At 3 AM When I Miss You
Poetryhe is one in seven billion, and i know that it feels like impossible odds- because right now, he is everything. seven billion combined. when will you ever find one like him? but let me ask you this: why would you want another like him? one who o...
