To myself, I say:
This is the guilt portrayed in bad posture,
This is the head,
Cultivated from a bleak pampas,
These are the legs prone to accidents,
So much life and never with my brain's default mode network.
Unsure if repeating winter moods result in sadder moraines.
To wherever I run.
Time has run out for me. My toes are reaching the half marathon starting line faster than I am able to find myself. My negative form is still here, but I can only assume it is a product of my own loopy distractions. How is it possible to be full on screamo and timid?
Unsure if repeating winter moods result in sadder moraines.
To wherever I run.
Time has run out for me. My toes are reaching the half marathon starting line faster than I am able to find myself. My negative form is still here, but I can only assume it is a product of my own loopy distractions. How is it possible to be full on screamo and timid?