Crazy, covered in ink, and bursting of stories to be told.
This is my life, the good, the bad, and the crazy.
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Unfixable
I always thought my heart would be mended with a tight enough hug from a guy who holds my heart. I've hugged every guy who has even touched my heart, hugged them so tightly I may have broken a bone or two of theirs. But my heart is still broken.
Why must people always have to be either good or bad? What if I was a good girl with bad tendencies or a bad girl who did good things? Must things always be placed in little boxes? What about those who do not fit into any box? What happens to them?
You built a house out of the bad thoughts rushing through your head and I tried to burn it down but you got caught in the flames. If it’s any consolation, I like the way you look with the tips of your hair singed off. I’m sorry your mother won’t.
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