Funeral. Regret.

Warning: Level of depression: 97,97

I won’t start todays post with a poem because everything went down like a rollercoaster. It happens everytime I have a good time. This time it was Italy and then boom. Rollercoaster.

Darling, we are going to a funeral.

Except darling. My parents don’t like me that much.

Funerals are cool. You may be wondering ‘Why?’. I ”like” it because it’s a place where everyone wears black and they think it’s appropriate. I wear black all the time so I finally don’t look like a weirdo. I just am.
Just please don’t include poetry in your funeral ceremony. Or I won’t be able to hold my tears away. Poetry gets me every freaking time.

They, well, my mum, proved it by throwing ALL my old song texts I wrote since I was a child away. Thanks mum. She threw away texts, my notes for my pc, my little doodles, everything is gone. Thanks mum. All she said was: Sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have done it.

Yes, you shouldn’t have. But you did. And that’s the worst part.

What else can happen?

Will you throw me away?

You are original, stay original.

Cheers,

Claire xx

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