When morning comes and my alarm begins ringing in my ears, dread and hopelessness settle at the pit of my stomach and rise up to my throat. Overnight, I decided on a new plan of action that is flimsy at best but the only light left at the end of the tunnel this week has become. I roll out of bed, brush my teeth, and go to my closet. After pillaging through it, I pull out a black tank top with a b****y handprint imprinted on it that goes from my waist to my underboob, a pair of black skinny jeans with short chains hanging down in a row of three on each side of my leg.
I pull on a pair of black boots that reach above my knees and shrug on my black leather jacket with a grey hood. I fix my makeup and brush through the tangles in my straight hair until it flows smoothly down my back. With a
