Somewhere behind it’s left eye lives the child he were supposed to become, he hasn’t eaten in years.
Every time he says “I’m okay,” something with too many joints crawls a little closer inside his ribs.
tell that to getawax
talm bout sum "blogposting" when they argued with tuff over dumb bullshit n constantly posts about that and his dead stream no one cares about anymore
There is a small wet mouth growing where his conscience used to be.
The lullaby his father never sang still hums itself through the fleshy holes at night.
