There is no gn to my head
There are no plls in my hand
But a slow sucicide is my poisin
Small smiles
Tight laughs
Small cuts
"Partying"
Slow sucicide is how I die
Playing in snow
Eating air
Sleeping days
Caffine nights
Slow suicide is my choice
Silver pens
Red paint
Smoky lungs
Whisky breath
Slow suicide is a petty death
Braclet wrists
Long sleeves
Empty ribs
Cold hands
Slow Suicide