It Is More Complex Than This, There Is More To Say Than This
Originally Uploaded here by Hugo*
I can't sing any song but hers, which means I perpetually have a corpse in my mouth and I'm not even discussing revolution. I continue to vacillate between fury and sorrow, the sensation of broken glass, running under my skin like a current or wanting to fly from my hand like a crashing wave upon the shore. I am distinctly and noticeably unhappy and depressed, and even moreso when I'm not in a repeating cycle of drunk/hungover. I can't forget thin wrists and promises of airplanes. But the story has become mine alone again, and it never lost the taste of tragedy that it seems I require.
The cut on my finger, it will scar. Appropriate, you didn't hurt me much and mostly I just hurt myself.
Written On: Mother's Computer
Currently Listening: Summers Tend Towards Heartbreak by Christopher (mix d/l)
Vegan Pirate: Open At This Exact Moment