twsitedtableu

the sick pacifist pinning the fight to the ground, trading its vowels for the burn of you.i give in not because im weak but because i cant remember what it feels like to refuse.call it penance, call it devotion and ill call it nothing.the hurt doesnt need a name afterall

but the scene replays: your hand, the needle, my chest, the dartboard. and it stutters in black and whites but the reel doesnt care.and the frames keeps spinning

i should let you continue, isnt that love? maybe im as twisted as your prayer or maybe youre not twisted at all.its me.its always been me.me, for feeling twisted. the penance is mine to pay

so take what you need. pieces i didnt know i had to give.ill fall just like the curtains of the stall we share, you know, silent and spent.the failed loverboy, i owe you everything, dont i? at least thats what i keep telling myself.just dont leave me

if this keeps your sun from setting then ill be your secret eclipse.i love you.and ill learn to love this too.bruises and all

because love doesnt ask. it takes

playing: my december -linkinpark. so that last post was subtle foreshadowing, disaster did strike me and it strikes me hard