I hope...

dear bulorne, her

I hope that when I die my mom finds someone to take my place 
So all she bought doesn’t go to waste 
So, there’s no more waste of space
So, she can have a problem she can handle 
I hope that when I die my friends keep each other 
Since the sensitive element won’t be there to bother them anymore
I hope that when I die, the people that I bothered, everyone, forgive me 
So, I don’t feel worse about my...

Humour me this,
Seventeen, feeling like I’m from the bottom of the worse world possible 
A teen, who’s never smoked nor touched a cigarette or vape, yet, still feels like the air is suffocating me
A dreamer, who barely can make it out in the world 
A daughter, who still has so much to learn and no time for it
A poet, who can’t right the right words, who can’t communicate simply enough for people to listen 
A writer, who can’t finish a story 
A whiner, who can’t stop crying nor regretting ever existing and who always seems to communicate in a way that tickles people off and pushed them away
A toxic woman, who’s never even touched a recreative drug in her life but has been intoxicated with the most toxic air from this factory that has become her achievements, wants or even needs, things that can only be had by people who can afford them

It’s funny that even my last attempt at communicating with people is an utter failure, even if I communicate my feelings without restraint. Fuck my life honestly


Florian. B 

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