He comes in many shapes and color. He has many friends. He has many enemies. They are all one. Laughter is used againest you. He visits holes and attempts to fill them. He rapes you of compassion, hope, ambition. Still though, not loved he needed. His smile is wide, his words come out as smoke and twists into smoggy shapes His eyes the reflection of many lost souls. Claws for hands. A solid rock on the outside yet turning it over you're presented with millions of green bugs scattering amoung thick moss.His thoughts are heard by those whose cuts are still bleeding, whose livers are trying to process that last drink, whose arms are marked for life, whose skin hangs off brittle bones. He plays with thier minds as Beethoven the piano, He can't exsist without them, they can't live with him.
Reason for writing:
I was in a bad mood
Birth sign: Not entered
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