This is it. I made it to thirty. I'd be proud of myself, if things weren't such a mess at the moment. Either way. I may or may not continue this. Like I fucking know. Anyway.
It's just a whisper
Just a little whisper
Of a bittersweet secret
Not ready to be unleashed
But she's falling apart at the seams,
They're ripping,
Coming undone
It appears that she did not sew them tight enough
And there's no guarantee
She'll be able to sew herself together again
Like she'll need to
Once she's truly alone,
And the whisper becomes a scream.
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