He Pus His Lips Next To My

What Is Wrong With You?' I Shake My Head. 'pull It Together.' And That's What It Feels Like: Pulling The Different Parts Of Me Up And In Like A Shoelace. I Feel Suffocated, But At Least I Feel Strong.

If Utopian Fiction Became The New Trend, I Wouldn't Read It.

Somewhere Inside Me Is A Merciful, Forgiving Person. Somewhere There Is A Girl Who Tries To Understand What People Are Going Through, Who Accepts That People Do Evil Things And That Desperation Leads Them To Darker Places Than They Ever Imagined, I Swear She Exists, And She Hurts For The Repentant Boy I See In Front Of Me. But If I Saw Her, I Wouldn't Recognize Her.

I Have A Theory That Selflessness And Bravery Aren't All That Different.

I Have Done Bad Things. I Can't Take Them Back, And They Are Part Of Who I Am. Most Of The Time, They Seem Like The Only Thing I Am.