they are polluted by my delusion they were born to ruin my tears are acidic and my burden is heavy my fears are basic and I feel incomplete already it's a lot to wrap my head around, especially when my feet are not on the ground I'd rather ride the clouds or catch a wave who determined that life had to be so grey, day in and day out paychecks in and I already spent it, this hole I cannot get out my teardrops are acid and my god I cannot hold them in any longer my emotions are stronger the longer they harbor.
You have a horrible singing voice but God knows, singing while you wash away dishes somehow makes cleaning your heart less cumbersome.
I've been worried about you; you seem to be craving a psychopathic thrill, the kind where you feel everything but remorse; what a change of course, you didn't let the monsters change you, did you?
Intensity sprawls over your dainty skin, either full equilibrium or capsizing until you sink, either confessing to possessing a soul gone obsidian or your confessions completely shrink.
Girls like you are the reason why you don't see many small kids out late at night; you're either fully pacific or completely acidic, either lulling stability and resolution or chaos enveloped by your convulsions.
You're a ******* storm... Now make sure the world knows.