Guns Under Their Petticoats

My love x


13. ⤗ trece

It's not you nor I and it's not the smile I've etched into my face. It's the permanent tear streaks stained onto my hollow cheeks, the purple surrounding my eyes so dark you could've sworn I'd been in a fight. The constant shaking and racing heartbeat when the mere thought of pain enters my fucked up thoughts. Desire upon desire, a raging fire filled up my heart and a lonely black hole growing bigger and bigger. I'm fucking messed up and it's all my fucking fault. I both hate and love pain. I miss it so much; the ache from starving or the soft bumps along my wrists. It's all gone. I feel nothing but desire, for the pain to go. To inflict it upon myself. I'm a contradiction, thats the problem. I want to get better but I miss it so much.

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