I wonder how much people waste their mind on me. Do they argue with me a lot? Am I on their mind because they need to protect me? Do they romanticize ..
Scarred lands grow roses,Harsh times grow hope.And where it starts is the quiet melody of violin coming from somewhere underground,As above us the roc..
I am in limbo, suffering from dawn to dusk, loathing my existence, and with it anything that I do. And then comes the night where I have to strip from..