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My snow angel


They see I lose my mind. My deterioration as my right index pokes squares.

My decline is my ego. The detachment concisely fifty 3. five. I am in a constant state of shriek.

Still winning.

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Published by: hermourningcoffee

Walking a fine line between genius and insanity. My words are raw, sometimes visceral and vulgar.  I write to settle my thoughts.  I have triggers that extract emotional immaturity and deep-rooted trauma, fear, anger, insecurity, and vulnerability. I heal with every stroke of the pen. Night Falls, I fear myself. I AM the monster underneath my bed. I do not wish to provoke you.  As you venture into my headspace, you ARE a willing participant. Disclaimer: 40/60 IRT

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