Life was nice. When I used to have one anyway. Somedays, I wonder why I even live. Whether the beings of above are mocking me, laughing at my demise. I thought I was a jigsaw puzzle half completed. But I was trampled upon, breaking the fragile pieces held together by almost nothing. Now it is beyond repair. Somedays, I sit on the roof of that building, staring wistfully at the view below, wishing I could be a part of that once again. No one notices me. Quite literally. The night is still fresh in my mind. The repeated gunshots. Haha. That was just so random. FYI, what I'm writing about is of some guy who dies and becomes a spirit . Comments anyone?
I'm mostly devilish I think In my spirit days I would haunt the crap out of people and guys who killed me to feel my pain.