Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

deteriorate;

I cannot breathe through this thickening haze of insufferable odors, these tendrils of disgusting scent that compress against myself and squeeze the life out of me, wafting out of the mold that has grown in this dingy cellar, this crypt that houses your rotting corpse.
And my eyes are stinging with tears, but it’s not from this repugnant stench, it’s because I’m so close to the pieces of you I never could have picked up, I never could have held.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback