Hail of Bullets
Summary
I press down the hygienic corridors, the blinding shine from the hospital lights forcing me to narrow my eyes. I hurriedly shove open the lavatory door, a tangled mess is what I am. I plonk myself on the crystal white tiles, the coldness creeps upwards, through my black, ripped jeans, through the thin, Misfits top, to my chalk white, pale skin. I shiver, and rub my arms in attempt to tame the goosebumps that are rising on them. I feel pricks in my eyes, and that is when I know what’s going to happen next. My vision blurs, and all I can see is water, water from my tears. The tears well up in my eyes then spill down my cheeks. I’m fed up. I’m fed up of the night terrors. I’m fed up of how fragile I am. I’m fed up of THEM, the people who hunt me down every night, trying to get me to go with them, to go to HIM. He wants me to go to him. Why would I want to go to HIM? I hate running from them. I hate being treated like I’m just a pile of dirt on the ground. But, most of all, I hate HIM. Frank Iero. It’s HIM who I hate most.
FRERARD
FRERARD
@TragicWithACapitalT
thanks dude !! xo
10/4/14