My Eyes, Those Sluts, Those Whores, Would

Sorrow Is Easier Than Guilt.

I’ll Put It Out There: I Am Scarred By The Nostalgic Indicipherability Of My Own Desires; I An Engulfed By The Intimidating Unknown, Pushed Through Darkness And Dragged Down By The Irretrievable Past Sweetness Of My Memories.

Letters Are False Really - They Are Expressions Of The Way You Wish You Were Instead Of The Way You Are.

The Joy That Isn't Shared Dies Young.

I Am So Imperfect, Can You Love Me When Really My Soul Is Deformed? Will You Love Me Anyhow?