Goldfish & rust
They keep telling me that love isn’t supposed to hurtBut I keep playing the movie of your death in my head.Dress rehearsal 24/7, 365, in my best dress,Hoping my makeup won’t smudge.Crescent moons littering my palms,And my sweat smells like Goldfish and rust.There’s a wild vine that sprouts from my belly buttonTying me to you. How could it be severed? Who would do such a thing?The text they wrote Read More












