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Cerce
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Sistine Chapel
i stayed up all night trying to think of the 'cutest' way
that i could possibly say the words to 'win your heart,'
or a sentence that would impress.
but instead i'll just be frank, it's not that easy to say it to your face,
but I'd be a liar if I didn't say you're so fucking fake.
with fingers crawling on top of dry skin, is this what love / life / lust / spite feels like?
it used to be familiar but now we forget,
confusing comfort for happiness.
you tried to erase “me,” and all your precious memories from human history.
i took a month off to take care of myself but I'll make things worse in the meantime.
keep the parts that you like the most and collect them in a bookshelf with your fractured bones.
keep pretending and assuming and that you're concrete and ignore that you'll shatter with a single heartbeat,
or lack thereof, apparently, as you rip apart at the seams.
it's still getting harder to tell if you're helpless or just useless.
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