I need to be destroyed
Rearrange the pieces of me if you find something worth salvaging
You know the part about glue holding me together
I've been writing a lot of songs for myself, and I can’t be sorry for that
I needed them
They have always told me my songs are sad, and I can’t be sorry for that
I needed them
If my heart loses control of the pen then I won’t ever write a song again
This one is to tell you how much it means that you have not abandoned me
Even when your skin is so uncomfortable you wish you could remove it
I just played all the sad songs to a mostly empty room
I’m sitting on a throne of doubt, and what makes sense is: you
What makes sense is: you
Like the last note of a ballad in an empty hall
Your voice hangs in the malleable air as my pulse begins to slow
Check my pupils, in the low light, cradling my skull
My soul and body are concussed and you’re the only cure I know
There is adhesive on every wall, but we are making ourselves a home
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