eh.
i just wrote a really long poem.
over 500 words.
its about someone,significantly older and very bitter, who had lent a younger person a helping hand, only to be scorned and spurned later.
the older person then curses the betrayer to never age, and rambles on about all the ills of never aging, never dying, and how the young person will suffer.
the persona also lists the ways and means that might help the cursed soul to end his torment, but tells the person not to hope.
why do I write these sort of things?
everytime I aim for something happy, I end up with this shit.
why?
her body's not moving,
i'm assuming,
she's dead.
