6h
Beneath my smile, things decay,
soft rot dressed in polite silence.
Hope is a maggot, writhing—
feeding on what’s left untouched,
too small to ****,
too stubborn to die.
soft rot dressed in polite silence.
Hope is a maggot, writhing—
feeding on what’s left untouched,
too small to ****,
too stubborn to die.
