He will run from your broken heart
like a train headed relentlessly eastbound.
He will not stop.
He will eventually notice your self destruction and no,
it will not be beautiful, no,
he will not wipe the tears from your clouded face and no,
he will not look deeply into your eyes
and breathe promises of solace.
Put down the phone.
He’s not going to return those calls.
This is a promise: you will fall;
perhaps you have already fallen.
He is not going to turn around
to pick you up.
It’s really cute when boys talk about their fears bc it makes them vulnerable and easier to destroy
i never really liked
until i found out
what it tastes like
when you sigh it
I want everyone to know
I am not sad,
my mouth is full of noise
and my body full of broken things,
but I myself,
am not broken.
the breathtaking certainty,
that comes when you’re loved.
ruins your lungs
dries out all your tears
leaves you lying awake at 4 in the morning
wishing you weren’t alive