And they sit there with their doors open and their eyes closed
Staring at the world, but not really seeing
Waiting for some unseen promise to suddenly appear
And reveal itself through broken words.
Words that spill from chapped lips.
Lips that rarely ever speak and are raw with misery.
I am pro at run on sentences and crummy poetry. I live for long nights and full moons. I worship the tree, the leaf and the blue sky above. I want to write a story and I want you to read it.
-Whatsername
p.s. Sometimes I feel like Laura Wingfield from The Glass Menagerie
