charcoal lungs, burning me up from the outside in, or some shit like that, i don’t know. on days like this, i’m kind of an idiot.
so plant your thoughts in my head. place your words in my mouth and water them from seedlings to trees. god, this is so embarrassing. i’m sorry this is just a classic case of the angsty teen. and i’m sorry i thought you might care about it.
might extract some kind of entertainment, from watching hands catch fire as i reach desperately for the sky, just trying to push myself through. just trying to make it out alive.
because it has to end someday… if i can just make it out alive…
then that’s all i can really ask for. right?
It’s late, I have school tomorrow and absolutely no idea where this came from–but hopefully it kind of resonates with you.