Criticism please
It's all just so much.
It was like the sound was so faint yet so loud.
Like a vent in my mind.
That's all I could hear.
That vent.
Came with voices I created.
My thoughts running over eachother.
I got rid of them one day.
I just never thought they'd come back.
One day as he sat at his desk he had a pen in his hand.
He wrote with his feelings.
His depression.
His anxiety.
His overwhelming feelings he couldn't grasp.
Any feeling.
It wasn't a diary.
It was just.
Him.
On a paper.
Losing his mind.
Want to know what he's writing?
Come on I'm in his room each night peering up at him from below.
I'll show you what makes his heart twist and turn.
I'll show his bloody thoughts.
Watch out though. He like to be a bit to expressive.
Fantasy