existence.

"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)

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79. Demonic Tears

 

Today my stomach feels as if some satanic demon has wormed into my lungs

and ripped shreds through my belly,

leaving me breathless at minute tasks and creating an aching sensation that folds my

back.

 

I presume it comes from the gym session occurring through the duration of school

with un-inspiring music weakly bleating from some damaged speakers

and disastrous rounds of stupid exercises with a person

I feel horrifically awkward around.

 

My teacher 'expected more from me',

but where did this assumption spring from?

 

I was debating this as I walked to school,

watching the faded lemon sky coat far away trees with a deepening green haze

that matched the fallen morning.

 

I found the crunch of leaves beneath my heels satisfying

and the groans of my ankles gone with

the silent waver of the wind.

 

My hair swept with rain fell in messy curls and

throughout the day I cursed how comfortable I felt around people

who ranked higher than me

on so many levels.

 

21st October 2015

(Also, Happy Back To The Future Day)!

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