You've got six sick slits on your dirty baby wrists, infection imperfections, scared, forever to exist. Engrained upon my memory, enraged negative energy, your weakness shines through the cuts for you from me. Or so you'd like to think, that's how you justify this sick, this stench to yourself, in this hell.
You're bleeding out into your palms, your hands turned up, upon the dawn, you'll be down under six feet of ground...
A foot for every cut
Shovelfuls of shame
The fate of every slut
A scar for every name
...yet you've still ceased to breathe, although you ceased to be... To be whom I loved, fell head over heels to hell for... She has perished... I wish you'd follow suit
Working on forgiving, but never EVER forgetting,
<3
No comments:
Post a Comment