It’s confessional.

If the type board letter keys on my phone was ink

It would be red

It would be my blood

It be the soul and power deep rooted tangling twisting in every dental root canal

Huddled around my toes and shooting pains up my thighs

It be the pain in my stomach

Puffy rings around my eyes, from crying too much in the night

It be the damaged ego of every soul that walked on by

It be the unearthly footsteps rushing up and down my corridor and collapsing relentlessly down the stairs

I didn’t push her, but the ghost keeps me awake.

It be the jolting of my bed creaking keeping me hopelessly exhausted

The shouting of people I thought where my friends telling me all about the things they hate about me.

It would be everything I see, feel and hear, but sometimes although confessional not always complete.

But I’m happy I can write something at least.

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