A somber admission that the wind isn't real
I'm hiding a wound in my side and i wince when i find
Underneath my skin
Is plastic

But the boy thought he was made of magic.

Nothing personal, woe-potentiation is in the taste of moldy leaves
Pressed flat with rain to the pavement of your hometown, like you
You scintillating *****
You, trading your talents for self-amusement
You, burning yourself in pieces and they'll never know
Never know what we could have been
For no reason

Closing off to the world in the dumbest, most unnecessary way
Burnt ashes on your lips will you kiss the cigarette backwards,
*****,
Travesty,
*****.

Breaking up with yourself is the best thing you can do, admit it
The wind isn't real
Love is a drug
We apportioned out for ourselves
Now cover my mouth with your hand and suffocate me because I said it