I feel like I'm not good enough for anyone. Not funny enough, not interesting enough. The people that used to make me so happy now turn me a blind eye. I sit alone, now just wanting the music like honey in my ears and my own lonely heart closed in on myself. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be truly lonely, but now I feel the same sad weight, the same gathering of strength like a bouquet of dead flowers. I hold them close to me, breathe in their broken scent I will make it through this. I will make it through this because I know I will. I will make it through this because I know I did it last time. I will make it through this because I know that under this fragile heart, I have a body of iron and a mind of titanium. I am an embodiment of strength and darling,
did anyone ever tell you that flowers can be made from steel?