I'm half cut, staring blind to the ceiling, dreaming of the day your breath inhabits my soul.
I wish for a time where, to me, you are obscure, and the writing on the wall simply reads your name.
Not my proverbial death wish.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
I'm half cut, staring blind to the ceiling, dreaming of the day your breath inhabits my soul.
I wish for a time where, to me, you are obscure, and the writing on the wall simply reads your name.
Not my proverbial death wish.
