Small, simple, safe price. Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets. This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals. And I am not afraid to die; I’m not afraid to bleed and fuck and fight, I want the pain of payment. What’s left, but a section of pygmy sized cuts. Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks. Would you be my little cut? Would you be my thousand fucks? And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid. To fill and spill over and under my thoughts. My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter. I’m cutting trying to picture your black, broken heart. Love is not like anything, Especially a fucking knife!
Sometimes you need to remind yourself that you were the one who carried you through the heartache. You are the one who sits with the cold body on the shower floor, and picks it up. You are the one who feeds it, who clothes it, who tucks it into bed, and you should be proud of that. Having the strength to take care of yourself when everyone around you is trying to bleed you dry, that is the strongest thing in the universe.
listening to the used always makes me extra emo