A Graveyard is nothing but a home of the dead, made for the living.
leave you marks all over the page and spill your beer all over the place
burn myself a little every day. cauterize the wound 'til it's okay.
I don't know where to start. Maybe with the hole inside my heart.
"How can you love someone that doesn't love themselves?"
When is an entry, one to remember? Is it the clothes, the subtle yell on arrival, perhaps, the person you have made your entry with. Either or, like the entry, I will go ahead and tell you exactly what this is about. Well, it's not a fantasy novel, or some ordinary tale about someone in my life I just need you to know about. It's the tale of my loss. How i was held the most special of things, of what was everything and somehow blew it. How I spent the better part of a lifetime looking, till one fateful day, where I told a friend of my story, she introduced me to her.
I hope you never have to share your favorite songs with the wrong person ever again.
I’ve thought of three ways to make the pain go away:
Candles used to excite me
Uncertainty...she is an evil bitch!