“You will burn in hell for what you did to me.”
Predictions in my mind.
Predictable, I’m not, but sorrow is.
Can you feel me?
Am I cold?
Can you feel my heart?
Is it beating?
I’m looking at a picture of a flower that is broken and stepped on.
Looking back, at my life.
I noticed how cold you talk to me.
I’m going to die!
I’m so cold I can’t feel.
I’m so warm I can’t see.
In my time, i am picked on and weak.
Look at me!
I’ve embraced, THE FUCKING GAME!
Feeling all the hate in my disgrace!
It’s dead now!
It’s done now.
Burn.