bullimic
am i good enough?
step up to the plate.
who loves me?
never, ever, ever admit to yourself who you really are deep inside. you can't stand the beauty or the smell of death.
like half digested rose petals, spread on the bathroom tile with pictures of angels with red horns against a backdrop of acid rain burning away the very soil the flowers and the spiders grew up in.
it feels like longing. but at least i'm not dying anymore. or am i?
step up to the plate.
who loves me?
never, ever, ever admit to yourself who you really are deep inside. you can't stand the beauty or the smell of death.
like half digested rose petals, spread on the bathroom tile with pictures of angels with red horns against a backdrop of acid rain burning away the very soil the flowers and the spiders grew up in.
it feels like longing. but at least i'm not dying anymore. or am i?