All of my other stories are on hold. Instead, I will be working on this book to reflect all of my thoughts into.
charles walked into his kitchen, crying to himself. he wasn't good enough for his dad. he would never be good enough.
he kept his head down. staring at the chipped tiles. he focused on all the pieces of dirt and food stuck between the thick lines.
he thought about sweeping, but that was too much work. instead, he grabbed a pizza slice and headed to his room.
YOU ARE READING
Lines
PoetryLines are on the tiled floor. Lines are rows of people. Lines are in text. Lines are on Bethany's wrists. Lines are everywhere.
