"You look like a fuckin' crack addict, kid." She said after a long look at the iron nails I had pushed through my never-closing eyelids. I turned to the cracked mirror to my left and shrugged.
"Guess now people won't be so wrong when they say I look like you." I replied.
YOU ARE READING
Academy Of American Bullshit
PoetryCollection of poetry, parts of short stories, and the occasional rant written by an artist who is angrier than she'd like to admit.
