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' excuse me— '
' which way to 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔬𝔫? '
' you're already in it '
howbeit she may soon mistaken it for hell.
honey dripped smiles washing through with the blues of irises and she's blushing. he's spooning sugar into her mouth with his charm, where her sweet tooth gets her drunk.
he's gardening in the fields of poison— he's digging, six feet— and its to plant her corpse. she's flourishing only to wilt— but no matter she was dead once he spotted her.
' he looked at her the way she 𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔢𝔡 to be looked at like the whole world could crumble
and he wouldn't blink. '
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