Small, simple, safe price, rise the
wake and carry me with all of my regrets. This is not a small cut
that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals, and I am not afraid
to die. I'm not afraid to bleed, and fuck, and fight.
I want the pain of payment. What's left, but a section of
pigmy-size cuts? Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted
fucks. Would you be my little cut? Would you be my thousand
fucks? And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid,
to fill, and spill over and under my thoughts. My sad, sorry,
selfish cry out to the cutter: I'm cutting trying to picture
your black broken heart. Love is not like anything - especially a
fucking knife.
I'm A Fake - The Used
Small, simple, safe price, rise the wake and carry me with all
4 faves
·
Mar 20, 2011 5:29am
