people go
but how they left
always stays
Recent forthcomings have in fact,made me to come to the conclusion that I am dying.
Mama,I've got time spilling out of my hands like water based ink and I don't think I want to leave just yet. I'm dying,but yet I'm here laughing and breathing and I can't help but help to fucking think-how much longer?
I'm dying and it's not in the way you think. I'm dying on the inside,beer battered arms thrashing wildly against my ribcage.
You see,I want you to be mine. I don't want you calling other girls the things you call me,but who am I to think I'm special in this godforsaken world full of roses?
Baby I want you. I want us to die together,surrounded in the dreams of our future. See how I quoted your favourite song? See how I love you? See how I can write books and books about the color of eyes and the smell of your skin?
But I'll be quiet. The way I was taught;be a silent banshee in this world.
I'm dying. I'm dying slow,the kind where the venom is the only thing that's keeping me alive and you're the doctor desperately trying to piece me together,but you only manage to sever my limbs and tear me apart even more.
-this book is kind of a mixture of all the incoherent rambles in my mind that won't leave me and the sound of a boy who stuck his fucking fingers inside of me searching for honey that wouldn't come
