He stands at the precipice of their design,
Losing something in the night air.
The edge by which he stands is still and cold.
My ribcage hurts but I don’t want to admit it.
It just feels so nice.
To have a flat chest.
To be a boy.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
He stands at the precipice of their design,
Losing something in the night air.
The edge by which he stands is still and cold.
My ribcage hurts but I don’t want to admit it.
It just feels so nice.
To have a flat chest.
To be a boy.
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