Cry your crocodile tears somewhere else.
You'll get no pity from me.
Go back to your lonely island.
Poor little girl blue.
No one seems to care about you.
You make it hard for us to care about you.
Stop the whining and stop the tears.
No one wants to drown in your river of tears.
The world's no longer listening to your sad song.
You no longer matter to anyone.
It's time to grow up and move on.
Poor little girl blue.
No one is listening to you.
No one cares anymore about the words that you say.
Poor little girl blue.
About the Creator
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More stories from Jasmine Harris and writers in Poets and other communities.
Two Wrinkles In Time
It is pointless to run, my darling, because sixty seconds ago, I will kill you. My blade will have sliced reality open right in front of you. It will have first pierced it as it would a bed sheet left hanging to dry, flapping in the wind on a Sunday afternoon. But the metal will have drawn a line in the air that the ghostly tear will have followed. Then I, La Dyablès, machete firmly in hand, will have emerged from what your mind, at the time, could only interpret as the other side of here—whatever that means to you. I know. I have seen that look on the faces of countless unlucky… clients. You will not have been the first nor the last to try and reneg on a riches for soul contract only to present this visage to me when I come to collect.
By Lily Séjor4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Okay, this was really sad. Made me remember days where I was all alone and nobody would play with me in the school grounds during recess. Sigh. Nice writing, Jasmine.