Curse of If It Means Alot To You
The more i write the more i think i learn but its in turn the least that i know. The stories are presented before the face of the author. The permanent bleeding's bled into the paper, a life time since the discovery wonders of the writings of my former self the tale that could have been spun. To sit back and piece the contentions is to only drift further away from the sanity of the destruction. To flirt with the tiny notion of a better life with the same demons of yesterdays is madness. For one to wonder the purpose of them is sicking to the soul, still we question the existence of every day from day light to dusk. The holidays something to experience but the curse returns of the song of the reality if it means alot to you rings threw my song of life once again only to make me question why is it some kinda game for me to toy with the empty void once again
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