It seems as if I don't know how to coin a poem unless my soul is being tortured in one way or another.
**** someone get me out of this god forsaken bathtub. My heart is bleeding purple ink, my skin has turned to paper.
Let me cry a stream of poems to save myself from dehydration.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC
It seems as if I don't know how to coin a poem unless my soul is being tortured in one way or another.
**** someone get me out of this god forsaken bathtub. My heart is bleeding purple ink, my skin has turned to paper.
Let me cry a stream of poems to save myself from dehydration.
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