The inside.
The inside.
The inside.
I’m growing my wings.
And losing my feathers.
I don’t mind it.
White wasn’t my colour anyway.
I’m not serene.
I’m not the calm, sweet, innocent girl you think I am.
Red is more my colour.
Full of fire, strength, evil.
I don’t want sunshine and grasslands.
I want thunder and deserts.
No, I don’t love you.
I hate you and I prefer you with nine bullets in the back of your neck.
I might have an angelic face.
But I think like the devil.
The white feathers hides my true face.
But it’s still here.
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