cigarettes may ****, blades hurt, and ***** burns, but it makes me feel alive, and I will rather be alive, than just another living shell, sitting straight on a shelf, like a plastic toy.
I thought of falling in love and your hands trace my thoughts like every word I mutter could mean everything at that moment and I live in constant demand of your arms around my waist and your lips pressed against my neck yet I runaway every time I get close enough to feel your breath but the further I run the closer you pull me in never letting me get far enough away to forget your name completely and my lips only know two tastes anymore and it's ***** strung with your name while I repetitively try to wash the stain you leave behind but it only keeps growing and you're not even here, yet I can feel your hands on my skin and I'm tearing at everything, trying to break free of your arms when all I wanna do is fall into you