Although,
my bubble was made of rough rubber, tiny and inflexible, I found you an entrance that would solemnly fit you, on the edge of calamity, I have risked my soul,
“Wicked and sinful” they always shriek, swerving, I can’t bother to hold the tranquility vigor of life calls but I am a fragile monarch where hornets grab for dear life, chocking my breath, stinging my flesh, savoring my agony, discouraging my sanity.
Away on a highway, on my own, I passed out, tiresome has devoured my last scraps, malleable and liable to crack I was, I am remorseful close to my reborn date, I am, but thankful to the fate that for once let me define the sober facade.
