blanche89
i've realized every time i tell someone i'm not broken, i become more shattered. I try to weld the cracks of guilt with tobacco, but i just end up getting cut with broken glass and burned with ashes of small words
it's your mind. your mind most of all. the old dusty pages of memory, and the wildflowers and dirty weeds that grow through the cracks of cement twisting around your brain soaking up sun through your open veins.
but also your long fingers that crawl up my ribs. the way you look at me. the way you look at me but you don't care. behind my eyelids you burn- behind your's she dances
she cooked under the lights, under her clothes... he was looking at her, more than she wanted, and she basked in the heat, trying to hide from his burning gaze.
i've already written about this word, why do i have to write about it twice? what is this? eeehhh