Oh, just let me wallow in my own poor choices. Does there always have to be a reason for crying? Perhaps I just want to cry. Has that ever occured to you? I am an emotional being, feelings make me. And just as easily they can break me. It crumbles, like drywall. Small pieces - crumbs - fall off at first, and then the whole thing breaks. Who cares if I was the one to lean upon it, punch it with my own fists? I am a destructive being, chaos makes me. Let me break me and cry about breaking me. I am a flawed being, vices make me.
by Anastasija Stradniece