27/F/A happy place. Feminist and unashamed.
I write for the hopeless and broken-hearted.
BPD enthusiast just trying to find my place in this cold world. Follow me on Instagram @ rebel_babyyy 159 followers / 3.4k words
we love what we can’t have until it’s burning a hole in our hearts and we play catch up convincing ourselves that we aren’t the devil’s advocate. but we are.
Love’s dead. Love’s dead. I’ll say it again. I’ll sing it from the rooftop 'Till these old bones stop breathing.
I’ll take a knife to My pulmonary arteries and watch My undeserving heart lose its ruby-colored dressings. Before I let love Fool me again With its deceptive tactics.
Am I a product of my environment? Or do I just Lack the basic capacity To understand love’s cruel semantics?
Only time will tell what becomes Of this defective love That plagues my soul.
I had a dream that our bodies withered under the crumbling weight of our façade. and Our souls sprouted from the cynicism that surrounds both of us. and Our disillusion with the human realm was buried within the ghosts of our past.