how often did you wish for
the inkwells to run dry
to never have to the reasoning
to go for everything on instinct alone?
to fake the warmth
to fuck the mouth
to fail the prophetic words of romance movies
to feel one thing
and call it another
to forget everything because
it was never written down.
my blood runs red black.
everything i was everything i am
everyfailure success reason injury
pain joy and drop of blood
my past is who i am.
No comments:
Post a Comment