wombatus777

You're talking to the air now. It's the kind of silence after a funeral, after something has been taken that you can never get back. It's the kind of sorrow that feels like wet ashes, the kind that sticks under your nails and leaves behind heavy footprints when you run. It's the kind of pain you can get art out of, the only kind that creates but also destroys so well. It's the kind of bitterness you hate yourself for, the kind that grinds itself into your bones and sours everything you taste. It's the kind of thing you drain yourself worrying about, that makes everything black out on the inside. It's the kind of repetition that makes you wo