wrenching, dragging, shaking me.
I want to write, whether it be about fag ends or fairies.
(Oh, the irony.)
But, it won't come.
Desperate for distraction... aware of growing cravings.
my blood wants to say hello to you, my fear is warm to get inside of you, my soul is so afraid to realise, how every little bit is left of me
Nights etched onto black board memory.
Screech.
(Oh, the irony.)
But, it won't come.
Desperate for distraction... aware of growing cravings.
my blood wants to say hello to you, my fear is warm to get inside of you, my soul is so afraid to realise, how every little bit is left of me
Nights etched onto black board memory.
Screech.
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i need you.
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