and the seeds you’ve planted in the pit of my stomach still sicken me and haunt my nights. my weak-willed weedkillers, drinks and drugs and endless dark, seem to stab only the parts of me you haven’t touched. pluck these vines, these burning flowers

and the seeds you’ve planted in the pit of my stomach still sicken me and haunt my nights. my weak-willed weedkillers, drinks and drugs and endless dark, seem to stab only the parts of me you haven’t touched. pluck these vines, these burning flowers

The Men In My Life Always Tear Me Apart. My Brothers, My Father, My Friends And My Lovers. When Did I Realize That To Love Them Is To Be Torn Limb From Limb? Perhaps When I Realized I’ll Always Return To Be Sewn Back Together.

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