, , , ,

I know what is right for me now and what isn’t, but clearly didn’t click quick enough to be capable of escaping weather quiet this rough now I’m stuck debating on whether I’ll be tough enough to see myself through the storm when my primary thought is wishing I’d never been born. I feel like nothing more than a thorn in the road, detached from my rose, bothersome, a burden best left under the dirt so no one else can be hurt by the ache of my touch.