The more time I spend with myself, the more I dislike the company.
Every lost dream has chipped away at what I believed I am/was. So damaging to the point when I finally am willing to stand still and reflect, what stares back is a shell more beautiful than ever before, while the insides decay with no apparent effects.
I woke up with an eminent feeling that I’ve lost something.
I suppose this is what happens when you grasp on to what is not yours in an attempt to validate your existence.
Or maybe I'll choose to write it off as pms.
Advertisement
