when he talks i can almost see the roses uncurling in his mouth so sickly sweet and bloody, the romanticism of a dead lover's tongue severed from emotion and sharpened like a blade. words dripping from his lips like unholy clementine flavored water.
"who would you die for?"
"all of them."
die for all of them and you'll die for none of them- did you save them or just find yourself a way out?
(you are a coward)
((just like your father))
BINABASA MO ANG
ur sleeping on the couch
Poetrysticky cantaloupe sunrises & kissing ur soft honeydew mouth
