Y’all heard about online viral videos?

I like to imagine my tragedy is complex, when it’s quite simple: I want to kiss you until the taste of you always lingers in my mouth. Yet I’ve forgotten the sweetness in your voice, and you don’t got want for my words anymore

Every day I wake up and it breaks my heart all over again. Why? Why is it still sore after so long? You seem to know that, you torment me so.

I think that, to ask the question of if I am worth being loved is beyond the point. I will be, to this idealized (and idolized) simulacra, perpetually inadequate. It has become a prison of my own construct. But what then, is the escape

If I had to guess what any given person’s thoughts of me are at any given moment, I’m going to guess: Bad. Even if told otherwise, I will subconsciously start threading the dots, regardless of them actually being there

My secret is: It’s a delicate thing, but I dont treat it as such. Like china in a bull pen.

I like to imagine my tragedy is complex, when it’s quite simple: I want to kiss you until the taste of you always lingers in my mouth. Yet I’ve forgotten the sweetness in your voice, and you don’t got want for my words anymore

Every day I wake up and it breaks my heart all over again. Why? Why is it still sore after so long? You seem to know that, you torment me so.

I think that, to ask the question of if I am worth being loved is beyond the point. I will be, to this idealized (and idolized) simulacra, perpetually inadequate. It has become a prison of my own construct. But what then, is the escape

If I had to guess what any given person’s thoughts of me are at any given moment, I’m going to guess: Bad. Even if told otherwise, I will subconsciously start threading the dots, regardless of them actually being there

I like to imagine my tragedy is complex, when it’s quite simple: I want to kiss you until the taste of you always lingers in my mouth. Yet I’ve forgotten the sweetness in your voice, and you don’t got want for my words anymore

Every day I wake up and it breaks my heart all over again. Why? Why is it still sore after so long? You seem to know that, you torment me so.

I think that, to ask the question of if I am worth being loved is beyond the point. I will be, to this idealized (and idolized) simulacra, perpetually inadequate. It has become a prison of my own construct. But what then, is the escape

okay, im "sorry" i tested my dual scythe combos/fever mode on your "smol bean" boyfriend