Little pangs of jealousy and you-can't-have-me balloons filled with blood
I'm sick of all the spinning, spinning my soul is doing and soon I'll fall and I didn't care to look for sharp stones or jagged rib cages before I began
I guess that's just the price I'll pay, when the ocean will drag me, not so much kicking and screaming as napping and singing, like a ship made from cartilage and sails of peach skin stretched painfully and too tight, too tight
What was I hoping for, a savior prince with the right hopeful words, a dark and devastating love that would give me a reason to stay or die?
I guess all I was hoping for was the chance to be not so much the absence of light that trails, tiptoes closely behind you, but a hollow wraith with sunshine eyes and bloody hips