And I think I knew it was getting bad again when my own internal clock stopped ticking
how much of my brain is wilfully my own? how much is not a rubber stamp of what i have read and heard and lived?
when i look back on my adolescence so far, my memories consist primarily of events that never took place, stories imagined from the music and movies and books i've pored over...hopes i've had that never quite panned out but which are as vivid in my mind as any real experience
self-awareness does not absolve anybody of anything
Love will not heal me, but it will hold my hand if I ever heal myself, and maybe teach me a joke that I can stay alive long enough to laugh at. I love you, enough to want to love myself too.
my sun still sets without you
Tell me, if I'm so important to you Then why am I so easily replaced?
