One day I will too write a love story that will melt
All the hearts, and the eyes that it will come across
I’ll too write of the sunsets, and the beaches I never walked on
But my characters will walk, and kiss and make up
I don’t know what has gotten into me. Why am I doing such random things? Why am I writing and tearing away the pages of my diary? Why am I doing this? Why am I doing that?
Oh! My head will burst into pieces, tiny bits of rotten muscle and melted skull, or who knows one or two sandbags might pop out of it. I’m dumb, I’ve accepted. There is no reason…
Okay, so I started this killer thing. I mean, I have seen them. Killers. Men, all draped in black with ammunitions in their hands, shooting and laughing and joking as if they had been slaughtering animals. I was attracted, or I must say– curious. Yes, I was curious. So I started following them. You know, being a part time reporter for a big agency, I…