There's an aching in my heart,
because their are stories living so clearly.
But I don't have the power to tell them,
nor do I have the will to bring them an end.
I don't want the world to see me,
because I'm stuck up in treetops,
still lying lazily in bed, holding onto sheets,
indecisive how to end the stories and my life.
View User's Journal
Here We Are, But We're Still Lost
I have spilled my heart on this journal and now I am making it public. I doubt what you will find will interest you much. It's only my battered soul.
Lol, sorry, that was really angst, wasn't it?
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