Sadness is like the stars, and happiness the skies. But atop you just dead flowers and dried tears, keeping you warm are maggots and shrouds.
No one has any idea, your heart beats in perfect harmony.
Let it be, you let it be.
That's the closest to the air you can give, although it can only grow thinner. Dear oxygen has left you for good. Your rotten lungs can only grow more sour. Your throat severely wounded and your own mouth tastes like vinegar.
That detailed twist in your abdomen. Right. Your body is soundproof.
You can't even remember the ****** scene.