you can just talk and i’ll listen to you for years.
if i showed you all my dark, im afraid you’d never be able to see my light again.
i am so terribly sad. someone must be watching the movie of my life for a good cry.
i have a feeling that in the next fifty women you undress, all you will be able to see is that they are not, and could never be me.
you watch as the tall, mighty flame that i once was drowns in your cruel, unforgiving flood. and you enjoy watching all my glory turn to nothing but blackened scars.
i have this terrible longing hiding inside my chest.
i think i hate hospitals, and the stinky hand soap, and a nurse’s fake smile, and the overhead lighting, and the quiet doctors, and the cold tile floors, and the cheap tissues, and the bland food, and the way you’ll never be the same.
i only write to distract my self from my own self-destructive behavior.