So there shall be a story. A girl who pined for love. Stretched out her skin, a razor pen, and wrote each word in blood. Each letter was deceitful, and each stroke was a sin. Just so she held a final breath, no longer could she win.
If I were a fisherman I'd cast my line aside. And close my eyes, and lay me down, and trust me to the tide.
But I don't the have privilege to use pure natures will. So, for now, I just shut down, and keep my feelings in.