𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, & 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 ------
this town don’t grow on you, it grows inside you, in your soft belly, an old oak with too many roots tangled up in your guts.
[ ... ] 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍
WE WERE ALL SCABS [ & ] BAND - AIDS, swollen lips [ & ] L O O S E T E E T H, the bruises on our skin shaped like fingers.
[ // ] we spat all over the grimy pavement. we stabbed green apples with buck knives, we went huntin’ for the WICKEDEST GHOSTS AFTER DARK. just to brag that we saw ‘em [ & ] came back alive. [ * ]
