Wednesday Adams Cousin

My thoughts spill out of my cracked skull and as I lay in a pool of my own blood.   Filled with despair and anguish. I have grown tired of all things. Life is filled with beautiful images, ideas that left me filled with hope. I had hope for the life dI could wanted, to have the freedom to choose the things that made me happy. We are more than happy to chase after this pristine, perfectly executed sham. We turn our eyes from the truth we shield ourselves from the injustice, ill-treated to the broken. Instead we aspire to follow an illusion an image that has been engraved into our minds. This image shows us what happiness should look like and even now as the world is in complete shambles humanity refuses to open their eyes why? For comfort and hope they would rather stay in the dark and hide behind their ignorance. Hope that one day they will know peace and that the overwhelming feeling of emptiness will stop weighing on them. As long as they hide behind igno...

It hurt to look at her. She was beautiful in the way death is. Beautiful in the way we romanticize pain. Her eyes were transparent you could see straight into her soul. Her eyes seem to spill out all her truths.  Her pale skin and bruised knees seem to belong to someone like her. Despair hung about her clinging to her with desperation. It hurt to look at her. Watching her was like watching a flower wilt. Painful because you knew it was once filled with beauty and promise. You can picture it swaying in the wind. Beauty& light radiating off of it. For a moment a feeling of peace washes over you. For a moment you are untouched. Now you see it fading, crumbling. It hurt to look at her. Because you are aware that once it fades it will be forgotten. All you can do is watch it decay. Even then it’s beautiful maybe more than ever. As death wraps itself around her in that moment she is a sight to be seen. Blood runs down her pale skin & tears run...