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The End:
The skies are so dull,
The moon looks like a skull,
The earth is gone and its hearth is gone,
Nothing but a black hole is born.
(Earth’s hearth = sun)
Pain finds various ways to escape , and this I wrote in 7th grade. I was writing about death and apocalypse when people ought to be writing about birds, flowers, soccer and the sky.
It was shortly after this that I started to bottle everything up and things would get progressively worse.
I have learned the hard way to never bottle anything up. Have faith in yourself and if you want to say something, then say it without being scared. Living in fear is the worst way to live.
MV