I don't write. I create.
‘I wish I had met you years ago!’
Said the man that claimed to love me so.
Back to the whore of his child’s mother, he spoke.
Silently, longing to choke!
YOU!
Crow peered into your beautiful eyes and said, ‘my dear child, they’re almost as beautiful as mine. You should never have lied!’
Years ago wasn’t the right time.
I left the room, thus leaving you to cry, for a broken heart, was never truly mine.
Goes by and eventually a week turns into forever.
I’m precious don’t touch me.
I tell you often you literally make me feel so small.
My life is a subscription to you.
I’m a notification on silent.
I’m a hashtag for the archive.
While you play God with an Atheist.
If this is depression, this is YOU.
If this is insanity, this is YOU.
If this is a complex onslaught of emotions, then this is my final day here on Earth.
I cry real tears.
You drain me and I try.
You act and I believe the show.
You manipulate and like a newborn lamb, I listen.
I’m done.
Off.
Like cows milk rotting away in an office fridge.
Like stale bread that begins to foam.
Like my line that you keep calling.
To love you before.
‪What does that look like online?‬
‪Mute.‬
‪Block.‬
‪Unfollow.‬
‪Follow with a promise then unfollow.‬
‪A silent DM.‬
‪A plethora of likes for you to notice?‬
‪@ followed by a beg ‘please, follow me!’‬
‪#SincerlyYoursStan ‬
‪PS: I get you!‬
Dress up, because dressing down is impossible for you.
Pose for the cam.
Post on the gram.
Hashtag I am and credit yourself as a somebody.
Surrounded by opportunity, I do not envy you.
Influence me bitch and live your life as a star.
I have no friends.
Only faint memories of interactions I once had with some.
I want you to picture me overeating and gaining weight rapidly.
I want you to imagine I Smell like bullshit and I don’t try to mask it with pleasantries.
Dream about my life, a life of wasted potential. I am wallowing in a bottomless pit of sadness.
I want you to wish hard that I’m crying and my heart pines for yours.
I want you to believe your actions were inconsequential, but spot on.
The lies we tell to paint pretty pictures.
Up! Two, three, four – Where the fuck is your girlfriend?
Why do your tears clog my drains?
What happened this time?
Where did you say you were again? Ah! Yes, you were floating away on cloud 9.
Bitch better get off my back.
Release my fucking hope! Stop clinging onto to me like the worthless piece of fucking shit you are.
One! Two, three four – Where the fuck is your lifeline?
Fall off my fucking boat! – Stop shouting for help and crying for the Captain.
Up! Two, three, four – Unique is not here no more.
Five, six, seven, eight – Unique is strong, and Crow is great.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve – Crow made me happy, and I no longer dwell.
Happy Birthday to you.
I don’t give a fuck day, fuck you!
Happy ‘why are you still here?’ day, dear History!
Happy Birthday to you.
Read more of this content when you subscribe today.
Unique wanted to become a Scientist.
A Singer.
A Chef.
A Cashier.
A Lawyer.
A Teacher.
A Manager.
A Coach.
A Fashion Designer.
A Vet.
A Shop Keeper.
A writer.
Unique wanted to become a Writer.
I said a Writer.
Unique wanted to become a Writer.
Unique's Blog 
You must be logged in to post a comment.