the ugly writers

It Won’t End Here

And this is not where it ends, there is more. This life is mine to suffer, this is mine, this way alone. I don't know what my old soul has to learn from it. I don't know what my old soul did.

I.M.Y.

I miss you, like the empty bottles missing its own content I miss you, like the bakery who runs out of bread at night I miss you, like the clown who goes home at night alone I miss you, like…