slowly killing ourselves is a rite of passage into society, i suppose.
in starving ourselves and slicing open our bodies, we find repose.
the stitches can't hide your shattered heart, darling.
when did brokenness become charming?
i feel myself fading into this house of ghosts.
but when i go,
just know,
i loved you the most.
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 12:56 AM UTC
slowly killing ourselves is a rite of passage into society, i suppose.
in starving ourselves and slicing open our bodies, we find repose.
the stitches can't hide your shattered heart, darling.
when did brokenness become charming?
i feel myself fading into this house of ghosts.
but when i go,
just know,
i loved you the most.
