The scariest thing about someone dying from hunger is the lack of blood at the crime scene

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I think I can't seperate the idea of you from the memory of you
I think I miss you more than I can actually remember you
And I think I'm ready to write again
Can it please translate to, ' I'm ready to live again'?
For God knows I had once lived like I've never lived in all my lives

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I've been going through packets of cigarettes to smoke you out of me
The only thing I've been able to exorcise successfully so far is our future

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just a canvas; not a muse

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Decaying teabags of Monsoon

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You drew butterfly doodles
On the margins of books, I lent you;
They sleep under the blanket of dust now
When you scrapped butterflies from my gut,
You left scars at the edges of my heart
And I never loved vandalism in my favourite places before you

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When I called you my moon,
The translation was never to
Cause high tides untill my heart floods,
Or Eclipse my Sun leaving me blind, drowning
And now the mirrors' cracks reflect shadows of our ghosts
And you can't heal a shadow with a bandaid, anyway

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What's that word to
describe the monsoon mood
which screams in loud rainbows
"currently laced in cathartic hues" ?

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Kindness for weakness episode 2904:
(Find in caption)

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Gift store

(Find in caption)

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