You put on a brave face, like your tough to the world. You, the tattooed lady. But inside you're like chocolate syrup. You're saccharin. You're treacly. You cry at the sounds of Windham Hill. The ink on your arms run like colourful teardrops onto a marshmallow floor.
2 comments:
You paint a mask on your face, pushing yourself from the world. With every stroke, you retreat further into your soul. Everyone assumes your life is wonderful, but if they only knew. Inside you're running, lost in the dark abyss of the unknown. You're constantly searching for the light you lost. Yet, you continue to paint your mask...
I like your blogg, it's interesting.
SC -
This post is fantastic. I don't know where you get these ideas from but I just hope there's a supply that never tires, and that the remaining drops haven't already been bottled and sold.
HP
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