A Desperate Display of Nothingness
Your near-dead heart is running at a million miles an hour
Desperately trying to keep your head from collapsing in on itself.
Trying to prove you are valuable, interesting, worth the hassle.
Your near-dead heart is running at a million miles an hour
Desperately trying to keep your head from collapsing in on itself.
Trying to prove you are valuable, interesting, worth the hassle.
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.