This Is What I Write About

I write about abandoned homes, and forgotten souls, and memories that creep in the darkest corners of my mind; I write about loneliness, and broken promises, and words carved on my skin, I write about the bloodstains on the snow, and the remains of a car crash, and how the wind hums a sad song I write about the wolf who cries at night, howling for the moon’s response, I write about shattered windows, about empty halls, and places with the stench of alcohol and regret I write about cracks on the walls and shadows that scare the hell out of people, I write about how that boy’s father died, how his mother left, and how that girl took her own life. You see, I write only about tragedies; don’t make me write about you.