And I'd drain my own blood and paint a picture so beautiful if I thought it'd make you smile. Because that's all I want. One.more.fucking.smile.
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There's something about curling smoke that makes me believe anything is possible. It inspires me to write something epic.
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sometimes i wonder if i'm real, and if i dig my nails into my skin long enough, will it still hurt? and if i cast these nerves away, which pain will be worse? my skin ripping or the numbness i (don't) feel afterwards?
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I wish I could keep hold of some of these laughs because as quickly as the come, there they go, lost in my memories. Why can't I be branded with a smile instead of a cigarette? Why does the curling smoke hang in the air longer than your promises?
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i can't let you in.
i'm sorry.
i tried.
but the words got confused
and i lost myself. |