its the pretty things that are always breaking.
i will not last there. i see myself getting worse and worse until everyone that use to know me will wonder what happened to the girl they really know. my eyes will become dull, and the circles will darken. i will get really thin. and pale. and scarred. and you wont recognize me. and it wont matter because you will have never thought about me or wondered about me anyway. i see it falling apart. breaking. and i will. too. it will smell of death. so strong you will be able to taste it. and feel it all around you. im nothing. and fine. im always fine.