so that's why i try to get rid of as many as possible. |


lover love, er love herwhydontyou be my submarine and i'll melt into any wooden shape you'll allow. hey boy, i can be your pose-able figure you'll practice the human form with. come stay with me this corkboard summer and we can practice backbends and bridges. breatheinbreatheout stop instructing me on the amount of air to suck in at a time! i swear to god almighty my little puppy-love lungs can support me without your helping hand. (no matter how much i love it). heyhey, let me cut my lip on the rim of your jagged soda-can edge, cause i know you love it when i lick my lips - which, by the way, remind me of the hickeys i give myself on my shoulders and forearms causlover love, er love her


and re-occurring bruiseshe always said he admired her ability to write. he'd sweep his too-dark-brown hair out of his eyes and squint at her latest mangled up heartache, displayed as pixels and awkward lettering on a computer screen. he'd shake his head, letting his bangs slip into his eyes and sigh. "my lovely girl, you've done it again." when the words left his crooked mouth she would flush and deny and do all she could to tell him that all she wrote was a documentation of how screwed up he made her. (of course... he never figured out it was about him, because like her, he refused to believe things, like how he had an ability to make her smile. heand re-occurring bruises


stand alone.my baby doll likes scissor swings, i swear to god that girl has wings my lovely boy loves curly hair, spills down my shoulders everywhere their eyes like broken crescents lay, the darkest night and dullest day with parted lips and wilting lids, the shaken smile he soon hid paints pretty pictures with his sighs, hitching breaths and spreading thighs best china that i won't soon own, i lick the marrow from your bone i tremble in the morning freeze, and whimper with his noontime breeze like alabaster open sores, you are mine and i am yours she lies and says that she can share, her veins they splintstand alone.


dear, you.dear you, you seem to be the type of person who smiles at confusing words or would be able to find the beauty of a single dead leaf in a bouquet of blooming azaleas, trembling in the smoky morning breeze. you're the person i'm writing to, even though i don't know your hometown, your favorite number, or even your name, although that's the case with a lot of other individual dolls (like you) that i come across. i hope you like numbers and counting or like finding weird meanings in a fragmented sentence, because this is what my letter will enclose.dear, you.
one. days always begin with splinters, and cracks, and something or else


october.this is dedicated to you silly and beautiful and self-loathing he who thinks not much of himself but so much of others brown eyed boy who makes me smile. you can coax music out of the most rusted instruments.october.
and you girl who wears rose-tinted glasses like they're the new black, this is for you and i promise, we love you.
and also you, little girl so naive in your over trusting til'-death-do-we-part nature you make me believe there is something out there and i'll watch over you
and make sure i go first.
finally this is only for you,
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Random Deviant
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we left our love in our summer skin.
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Don't forget...
It's not over yet..
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we left our love in our summer skin.
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Don't forget...
It's not over yet..
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Hobo Werewolf!
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we left our love in our summer skin.
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