Tastes like a cherry jolly rancher
The sad sounds of forsaken sorrows swimming silently thru the silky sky turn even my brightest day’s dark. The abandonment of their hearts, souls, and faces haunt my body. Their pain at my finger tips burn at the touch. It’s hard to ignore common sense but I do and take them all in. Slowly suffering, never dying. Instincts that come with the act of birth say not to do it again, but common sense is easy to ignore. Irony covers my sad sound of my forsaken sorrow that is now swimming with the same ones I bring into me. Only mine goes un-touched.
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