The poetry isn’t in all these words —
It’s in knowing I survived them.
My heart is a tomb,
waiting on your body to
she said she wants to be the girl with the most cake
she fakes it so real she's beyond fake
she loves him so much that it turns to hate
but she never felt the rush that comes with your taste
like a hit in the veins you can't replace
like an addiction so good you don't want saved
always searching for the high in a different shape
but there's no comparison, you can't escape
your heart aches and aches and aches and aches
perfume that's just his scent, he begs
and breaks and breaks and breaks and breaks
white roses flow from between your legs
drown him till he makes you shake
in this love, the only winner is fate
This is **** but I love it
Are people ever really whole?
Because we’re all so busy building homes
In other people
Who don’t understand how each board and nail
Are the chordae tendineae
Of our hearts
We don’t understand how building homes in other people
Leaves us in the dark
let it come.
let it hit you as hard as it may.
let it sting; heartbreak always does...
then let it go;
you are stronger than this grief.
allow yourself to feel all of the feels, but never hold on to them for too long.
I have 124 screenshots of proof that you loved me.
I really don't have anything witty to say about the way someone stops caring for you.
And there's nothing poetic about that.