How Long has It Been?
The one they never wanted
My name is Katlyn Lynn Samms, but Katie will suffice. I'm the girl every parent feared their child would turn into. I have long brown hair, bangs parted to the side, the scene look that everyone is into now. My make up was thick and black and always coated on. My clothes were like every other teenage girl. I wore two rings and a single necklace.
So what was wrong with me?
It wasn't my outer image that worried people, it was how my mind worked. My mind worked in ways no one understands. I take everything, in my head, and twist it till the reason makes scenes, because everything has a reason.
Death in my head is the most facinating topic, next to the genocide of the Holocaust. Let's just say people worry about me, some even fear me, because of the way i speak about death as if it doesn't phase me.
About two years ago around the age fifteen of sixteen I lived next to a cemetery, and I would spend hours sitting by the tombs and smoke. Sometimes I would read, sometimes I would write, and sometimes I would stare at the smoke I in hailed and ex hailed.
My parents would ask people why I would spend so much time doing so little. They would never have an answer, even the specialist was confused on what in my head drove me the peaceful land of the dead.
Only i knew why.
Finally we moved away from the quiet graveyard. Far enough my parents hoped that i would ac normal. The years passed and i followed the same routine except i ventured to my room after school and kept to my self that way.
My life was consumed by what my head heard. Things I heard that others couldn't.
So what was wrong with me?
It wasn't my outer image that worried people, it was how my mind worked. My mind worked in ways no one understands. I take everything, in my head, and twist it till the reason makes scenes, because everything has a reason.
Death in my head is the most facinating topic, next to the genocide of the Holocaust. Let's just say people worry about me, some even fear me, because of the way i speak about death as if it doesn't phase me.
About two years ago around the age fifteen of sixteen I lived next to a cemetery, and I would spend hours sitting by the tombs and smoke. Sometimes I would read, sometimes I would write, and sometimes I would stare at the smoke I in hailed and ex hailed.
My parents would ask people why I would spend so much time doing so little. They would never have an answer, even the specialist was confused on what in my head drove me the peaceful land of the dead.
Only i knew why.
Finally we moved away from the quiet graveyard. Far enough my parents hoped that i would ac normal. The years passed and i followed the same routine except i ventured to my room after school and kept to my self that way.
My life was consumed by what my head heard. Things I heard that others couldn't.