"I fuck up your head. That's a writer's job."
To put it simply:
Abreachinsecuritythelargestinhistory.
I was beautiful once but now I am skin and bones.
Every valve contraction is malicious in intent.
Sleeping beneath tree roots and grabbing your ankles on a rainy day.
The blue mood can put you underground.
We don't make sense in our own heads sometimes but we still justify
everything with an iron excuse.
You don't know what hard work is, your hands are too soft.
Lists are harder to wrap my head around these days.
We are nothing but items in a line, waiting for our turn to shine it
out.
I want to break some streetlights because its better than breaking
hearts.
