the year of deflated lungs and vases full of withered flowers
the year god turned into a complex, liked coming down more than going to church
the year my body turned into a black market; makeup remover stung more than purple skin
the year I layed in the snow until my body was just as numb as my soul
the year I built my home out of straw and my heart of cement
The year I sang to the trees because I liked to listen to them breathe
The year I realized my body fit into the reflection for a reason and no person is comfortable unless you paint them yourself.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 11:47 PM UTC
the year of deflated lungs and vases full of withered flowers
the year god turned into a complex, liked coming down more than going to church
the year my body turned into a black market; makeup remover stung more than purple skin
the year I layed in the snow until my body was just as numb as my soul
the year I built my home out of straw and my heart of cement
The year I sang to the trees because I liked to listen to them breathe
The year I realized my body fit into the reflection for a reason and no person is comfortable unless you paint them yourself.
I'll probably edit this but here it is for now
