Underneath the rope burns on my pale wrists, you can feel the thin, fluttering pulse
Of the heart I wear on my sleeve.
I'm a red thread of remembrance,
Stitched into you,
So you won't forget how to feel.
I smile,
And smoke curls around my cheekbones
Drawn from the corners of my lips.
You continue to inhale, even though I'm toxic.
I exhale because the breath in my lungs is burning.










--
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go.
- e.e. cummings
--
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go.
- e.e. cummings
Oh my goodness hi~
--
Please don't give up,dear you.
I'm but the silver moon sliding through
--
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go.
- e.e. cummings
--
Please don't give up,dear you.
I'm but the silver moon sliding through
you?
--
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go.
- e.e. cummings
--
Fiish
Taking Commissions: [link]
--
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go.
- e.e. cummings