With screaming eyes, and weakened breath, twas not for life, he begged, twas death.

Sat in the park,
in the morning,
while it rained on me,
and the air smelt like leaves and freshness,
and i read my book,
about a psycopath killing girls in their houses,
and i sat on the swing,
while i read,
and smelt the air filled with leave and freshness,
and it rained on me.
And I thought about how interesting my book was,
and how good thriller is as a genre,
since it really keeps you,
on,
your,
toes.
and my lesbian-tartan-jacket kept me warm,
even though,
i looked like a boy,
granted,
a hot boy.
i like parks in the morning.
i don't like waiting for people,
to arrive at my house.
happy saturday everyone.