He was the type of boy who wrote memos on his hand because his skin absorbed the words better than paper but they soon came off when he scrubbed her of his skin and from under his finger nails.

Nights are getting heavier and the sky is darker and it feels like the stars could swallow you whole but you have to keep moving.

Memories are long and painful and shots of your image like knives are imprinted on my skull and i can't seem to shift what appears to be your apparent state of mind. Oh what a funny way to live, not knowing if the leaves are turning brown or if our veins run blue but we can't see it.

It's not about me, you see, i can't control my mind it's not full of fields where daisies grow no more. It's full of the thoughts you should run from and people whose hearts should not beat but we must ignore these factors for i am still human. And my blood is warm and my skin is warm and so is the sun. Please love me and show warmth to me too.