The man who left my heart in a jar of scorpions sparked a journey of troubled memories. As my story turns gray, I don't blame him for my sorrow or the loss of my identity caused by a small bullet through my heart. Perhaps the scientific approach isn’t aiding my growth and instead prolongs the most challenging times in the vast sea of missing my father. The holes in the ceiling are difficult to ignore when it rains heavily, and my emotions start to spiral. I always dreamed that my soul could be replaced by my audience of dead bones. As my yelling grew in the cold winter, my internals couldn’t fill the emptiness of finding love again. Searching for love is complicated, especially when you're blamed for broken homes.These open portals don't help with sentimental living; even my family struggles to understand the overwhelming emotions I feel. I am tired of hatred being passed around in a small percentage of people with no head-on. My final wish list should be filled with desires for mischief involving these individuals who are confined within a medieval castle.
