It’s not me, it’s you.
Dreams are just something that get in the way of giving in.
I’m a stitch away from making it and a scar away from falling apart.
Failure never looked so pretty.
Keep my best days in memories and my best lines closed tight in books.
Pretend you’re alive.
The simplest words seem to be the truest. Humming them out of key and in a voice so hoarse it hurts.
The glue isn’t even dry on my pity party invitations and I’m already bored with feeling sorry for myself.