Back pushed against the wall. Hearts shattered like broken glass. The rain's dropping harder than ever like the mood(s) of Sylvia Plath. — Needa Muy Bleed Copy Share Image
The night echoes into my hollow lungs in a way that the morning and afternoon sun would never understand or be able… — Needa Muy Afternoon sun Copy Share Image
I am at the point of my life where I am realizing that I cannot write about the same shit forever. I… — Needa Muy Empty Copy Share Image
When writing, we can be one step away from recovering as well as being one step away from relapsing. That's the most… — Needa Muy Recovering Copy Share Image
Realistic writing kept me stable. It kept my mind less clustered by resting my soul; pouring it onto a blank canvas. I… — Needa Muy Blank canvas Copy Share Image
Very often I'm told that my heart's cold. That I'm the type to let my eyes speak what my mouth won't. That… — Needa Muy Cynical Copy Share Image
I met him. Him; him who in the midst of my terrible sorrow, fell in love with my madness. Him who was… — Needa Muy Him Copy Share Image
I started hating you for everything that made me love you. I hated how lowkey, hollow, and discreet you were. I hated… — Needa Muy Dancing with the devil Copy Share Image
