get me the hell out of here
the wind is whispering into my ear
through the tiny cracks between the window and the wall
knocking at my window
as if it is some friendly,
night time visitor
pretending that I'd be willing
to welcome it into my room
feeding me the idea that it'd be thrilling,
but I try not to let it through
yet the wind makes it to me,
and I become a slave to it again
I start to panic-
the usual
then I realize-
the wind is not alive
the wind is not talking
the wind is just an excuse to hate myself
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About the Creator
Samantha Brinker
vegetarian~taurus~creative writer~bisexual~psyche~wiccan~music lover
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