I can't stop thinking about it.
I don't think I can stop thinking about it.
The picture in my brain is unalterable. unchanging. ever still.
She's just sitting there, motionless. I can't do anything to help her and that's what bothers me the most. She couldn't save herself. I wish i could've saved her. God, that would be catastrophic.
The bloodied and maimed shirt. The one I picked out for her. The one she wore even though she doubted the style. It was a tie-dyed blue blouse made of something almost as soft as her face.
Maybe someone else hit her. Maybe she was shot. Maybe she drank too much. Maybe she was drugged. (i doubt it since she's smarter than that)
The cat would sure miss her.
YOU ARE READING
aesthetics
Poetryhey lmao idek what im doing but i live for aesthetics so here's literally a compilation of aesthetically pleasing descriptions of either people that i know and love, or random people that i've seen, or just made up people. maybe i'll even do scenery...
