I think of better days, Not bitter like cheap oranges, But juicy with veins you peel off, Not dry like faded orange skins, But sweet as you bite into each piece. I know of better days, They have been dreamed of, And lived through in the past decade, Not many of them but enough of

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You’re working really hard, aren’t you? Cementing that persona as a badass. Making sure others fear you. The sad thing is this. You are weak for building tension and dishing out criticism. That’s why people whisper behind your back. Say what a bitch you are. Do you know this? You have to or else you

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You have blood on your hands Dipping them into a bucket full of red Something you knew was visible They were not magical as you thought You stuffed your mouth with crumbs The lives you have destroyed The souls you have crushed You will pay for all of this destruction Survivors do not forget their

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Tick tock, around the clock, the mouse went down in a hurry. Eleven past midnight, it will soon be twelve in a flurry. My legs won’t move fast enough for the chase. What should I do in this case? Where is my cane? Where is the hook? Why do I have to get out of

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there’s a lump in my heart, where my throat should be, vice versa, not versa vice, and I’m not going to cry this time, no, I will not cry for you. it’s too dark to see within me, not around me, it’s too bright, the glare hurts my eyes, and I know what needs to

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