My existence is a paradox,
I'm the living dead, alone in a crowded cafe
And I am the pure hearted sinner, who's scarring others with her own blood,
I am everything that's good, which came from bad;
And nothing but a fake memory
Depending on false hope.
YOU ARE READING
Breathers.
PoetryThese are just some of my random thoughts and you can also say that it's a collection for my other works, I hope that you find them enjoyable♡
