In The Field of Darken Grass
By a lachrymist
What am I doing here? Blinded by the darkness. With only sounds occupying. I indulge in my innerself. Looking for light to make safe. Paranoid, panicking, and picking the scabs to comfort me. Lost without a tear, laughter makes me free. Written October 15th, 2001 © on Oct 14 2001 06:01 PM PST 10 • 0
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"What am I doing here?..."