I am standoffish scar. Armfuls of hurt worm through this spar, this whisper no longer here. A thread of then, turned lead now. Eater of blue. The glib is winning. It's too much. It tires me. I'm always tired. Why? I'm never ever going to be me, again. I am lined with lines of lies lied, tied up and gagged with ballnchain blame games. It's easy to lay me. Sleeper of sleep, pulling my sleeve into childish reveries of when nothing was anything but that was ok. I know it wasn't really actually ok, but the thought of good times haunts the line dividing me between the wake and sweet release. I let it **** me
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
I am standoffish scar. Armfuls of hurt worm through this spar, this whisper no longer here. A thread of then, turned lead now. Eater of blue. The glib is winning. It's too much. It tires me. I'm always tired. Why? I'm never ever going to be me, again. I am lined with lines of lies lied, tied up and gagged with ballnchain blame games. It's easy to lay me. Sleeper of sleep, pulling my sleeve into childish reveries of when nothing was anything but that was ok. I know it wasn't really actually ok, but the thought of good times haunts the line dividing me between the wake and sweet release. I let it **** me
