For past me, dreams, and bits of Florida too
You’re broken glass, and I’ve got
Shards of you, stuck to my skin
They pierce me, with every breath I take
Making me bleed, until I’m covered in blood
But don’t they know, that I’m a masochist?
Who craves the pain, that comes from loving you?
I’ve got my lungs full of you
Making it hard to breathe
But I love the pain, the pain that comes from loving you
The pain kills me, but makes me feel alive
I’ve got shards of you, stuck to my skin
And I’m in no hurry, to take them out.
-The Girl Lost In The Bookstore
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