The thoughts in my head are haywire. My co-worker had a fourth baby last month. I got married a decade before her, yet I have none. The baby's cries irritates me, but I don't get to complain. She tells me everything; too many details. She asks me to borrow her money sometimes, not that I have much to spare, but I can't hold back or I'd be termed the hater. The baby is just a baby. I can't say if he's beautiful or not; I just get disgusted that she's having it easy. There was another baby today; a little girl, I heard. I should've gone to say hello to the mother, but she's also just another young girl who shouldn't be having babies of her own; she's barely twenty. Yet someway, she had no problem conceiving when she didn't want a child. She should still be in school, but there she sits welcoming well-wishers with no thought as to how she intends to raise the thing she has just birth. I ask why I'm so unfortunate in this regard. It...
On other days, the ink reflects my thoughts better than my lips ever would...