The black ink seems to slowly slither up my arm as I walk. No one knew though, for the inky paste was invisible to the ignorant and closed minded. There were times were even I can't see it. These are the moments I am least proud of, the moment of selfishness and narcissists'. I don't know if everyone has there own ink, and if they do, whether or not it's the same color as mine.
The black ink slowly slid over my shoulder whispering the horrible thought of those around me. When the slimy grime found the hate contorted in my features, it stopped and laid flatly against my shoulder blades.
The black mixture that was some where between wet and sticky crawled over my face; scratching me with it's invisible talons. As it settle over my eyes, it started to solidify. My sight was cover in fog. These were the only times I truly hate because the only way to escape was to become what I hated most.
*unedited*
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Randomness
RandomThis is just a small collection of my thoughts and ideas throughout the day. Thank you so much for reading.
