Synthee (waltzing at your feet)
Synthee (waltzing at your feet)
Do you even miss me?
No.
I want you to be my Sappho, a static with no forehead, a face with a cheek and a neck, to be like the circle of the moon blinded from the sun for me, the orb decaying from the fiercest light it's ever known, saving me from its vicious, accusing stare. Oh merciless shock of colour in a ( Read more... )
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No.
Did you miss the bottom of this cut?
(Conceited, you once called me. I said no, just paranoid. I still am, paranoid and desperate, and I know I'm making a fool of myself, over and over again. I know that probably didn't pertain to me in the slightest way, but of course I immediately read it as though it did, and had to answer. Slap me in the face again with your nails, maybe I'll stop trying.)
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