I used to be a ragdoll. People would throw me about everywhere. Some would show me what to do, how to move, but I'd always flop down and out of place. My hair was a reddish yellow, and my pants were silver corduroys. The stuffing was awkward, leaving my left arm too fat and nothing for body. Then I changed.
Some people say change is good, especially after something so bad, but lately, I've been left to question that. It's no good to change from one bad thing to another, that's just awful. Life hasn't meant much to me lately, I'm tired, but I just don't care, I'm hungry, but I just don't care, I'm dying, but I just don't care.
There are times, especially now, that I feel these views reflect others. I hope not, but my friends are good liars. I've made sure.
1 comment:
It's funny that your writing gets worse as you get older. This is your high
So bye
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