my birthday was today
right before a national tragedy
is that why i am the way i am or is it some other convoluted reason?
i have been eating through books like money grows on trees
thirty bucks a volume, but it must be worth the escape it brings
how shameful
seventeen now and still playing pretend
i have not shed a tear for my own life in months but a collection of words brings me to weep
what have i done to deserve a life of daydreams and brokenness?
Crime/Mystery Film & Writing Festival 