• wine_mirrors 27w

    May god forsake the kind of men
    Who need people to need them

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    Go on.
    Hide your skeletons
    In my closet;
    Call it love.
    Their bones are still pink
    From ripped flesh
    And overcooked sunsets.
    Make me your diary,
    Scribble your secrets
    And tear all my pages out
    Until i become a spine that has
    Nothing to hold anymore
    Folded veins of leather
    Run down my middle