Pizza:
If I could take back the pizza I ate tonight, I would, believe me. It sits in my stomach making me sick. But I think I'm using that as an excuse.
I'm probably sick from singing my lungs out to my favorite musical. Or it could be my fear of the future. I'm going to a place I haven't been in a dangerously long time. It's so colorful and warm, yet it makes me feel so cold and lonely.
Whenever I leave that place, it's dark. I hate leaving that place. I leave with creating something new, but I don't leave the creations. Remnants of them end up on my arms and face. I smile when I look at the paint as I remember what happened when it ended up there.
The songs that played. The words spoken. And how cold I felt.
I think that's why I feel sick. But it's fine. It's worth it. If I get some paint on my arm, maybe I'll feel better.
Let's hope.
YOU ARE READING
Poems, Songs, and Other Arts
RandomThings to remember. Things that make me happy. Food for the soul. Venting and rants. Enchiladas. You are loved... by enchiladas. --- This vague description just means this is my art book. Weather it be poems, short stories, or actual art, I might pu...
