still looking for answers maybe in all the wrong places but looking nevertheless. still missing the scent of your skin and the spilled guts left over in my sheets after you left. still thinking every single night about the day you were gone for good and how your lips felt soft and sweet brushed against mine.

and you're there laying in your coffin in the cold of winter snow and being eaten out by bugs instead of me and everything is really fucking messy i am so sorry

é tudo uma desculpa de uma desculpa de uma desculpa de uma desculpa 

because all my friends are out there wasting themselves smoking four cigarettes in a row, rolling joints every night and meeting people who can easily crawl inside the hollow spaces in their hearts - and I remember how long it took me to get there; because all of them are living their own hell but have breaks to laugh at the sky and i always feel the most lonely, even if i’m not. i wonder how it must feel to have the world in your hands and happiness at your feet, sometimes i wish i’d also give myself away too just because i’m young and not having any fun. most my days are spent wondering what could have been. maybe if i had never swallowed the poison i wouldn’t be down to ignoring my parents and pretending to care about people who make wounds in my chest just because i am uterly alone. wish i was an angel flying the skies looking for peace somewhere else but i’m stuck and growing roots and growing apart from everthing real and i don’t know what to do. send help