

help.you never know when the worldhelp.
will come crashing down around you. which is why we don't throw stones at glass
houses.


i never was an artist, anyway.i don't know how to draw hearts. somehow, they always turn into black scratches.i never was an artist, anyway.
or maybe because the only heart i know how to draw is my own.


get over it, this is reality.i.get over it, this is reality.
you're racing down an empty highway. the screams,
the crash,
the shattered glass -
white noise, faceless voice,
acoustic guitar.
ii.
daisies peek beneath your toes,
shadows dance along the wall, "where are you, love?"
soft murmurs,
soft kiss,
soft sob,
mute rip.
iii.
the mirror never lied to you,
about the red,
the black,
and blue. the water never hid the pain,
and washed it
down
the
drain.
iv. clouds will pass over your head,
--
«Sometimes I pretend to be normal, but it gets boring. So I go back being me.»
you're very welcome :]
xo.
--
"listen up there Molly Menopause..."
"Take your blah blah to the blahblahologist."
you're welcome :]
xo.
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