(and flies away)

My brain is the cancer creeping up along the lone mother holding her baby cooing all the soft melodies we wished we knew by heart but in the ned the best we get is a bar before we fall asleep.

Something specious.

Something sweet.

Notes we'd barely remember if it weren't for the times we broke down crying over the line between living and dying and the only thing to keep you on the one side was your fucking screaming cowardice when you saw your face. looked deep in your eyes and realized though it might prove harder to be alive at times it was a sure as shit better alternative to dying by your own shaky hands.

Besides, what could these weak wrists do but hold on to those ideas that pass through later nights wishing they were right.