Maybe, Just maybe, If you stopped retying the strings that I so meticulously cut and fray, That I so desperately need to be gone, That leave scars on my fingertips that trail all the way down my arms and to my heart, » Continue Reading
Sometimes I feel like a mushroom in varying stages of rot, but mostly right before it is an indescribable mess of fluids Right when it still retains some idea of shape or form, but cannot keep itself upright. Cannot keep itself in the mould that it was made to fit. When it has given up on trying to pres » Continue Reading