melancholy seeps through the cracks of tension , pierced tongue pushing ‘gainst the roof of own warm mouth . there is a release of air from stuttering lungs , shoulders hunched in indifference . ❝ y’can’t do that , john . y’cant just beat on whoever the hell you want . ❞ words are drowning before they’ve ever reached the surface , like grasping at straws . ❝ ‘s not right . THEY’RE KIDS . ❞
CLOSED STARTER : @wolfeskin .