It's nights like these
When I find myself
Drawing the constellations in my wrists.
I feel a filth in my bones
As I try to scrub clean
The dirt and the lies within me
And when the sky gets dark,
So do my thoughts.
I cannot mend my broken heart
Because it keeps cutting my hands
Trying to glue it back together.
As I count the stars in the galaxy that
Make up my wrists
I take a sip from the Devil's cup
And hope he spares me my soul.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC
It's nights like these
When I find myself
Drawing the constellations in my wrists.
I feel a filth in my bones
As I try to scrub clean
The dirt and the lies within me
And when the sky gets dark,
So do my thoughts.
I cannot mend my broken heart
Because it keeps cutting my hands
Trying to glue it back together.
As I count the stars in the galaxy that
Make up my wrists
I take a sip from the Devil's cup
And hope he spares me my soul.
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