FeebleLittleMind

1. Every seed that falls is one that               has to land somewhere. Falling from rock to rock, tree to tree,          stupid nature to stupid nature.                                Mother, why do this to me? Why go so far to write my death up in your books and     leave me here to dig my own grave? Mother, look at me.        Look at what your roots did to me. Mother, I'm falling            and I've landed in the gravel. 2. Mother, I'm your little seed. And I've fallen                            and fallen                      and fallen                and I'm not in my death bed. It's cold here. And I look up at the sky you'

words are a mystery that start from one person formed through joy and pain. birth and destruction  and the words would be passed down                       and down               and down           and               down                    until they're barely  the same anymore. they're not broken or deformed. just rounded. the edges aren't edges. fits the puzzle but there's still gaps between each piece. even so it makes something complete yet incomplete.                it won't be, anyways. not when the globes keep rolling off the table. but when they keep still what you see                        is an entire universe one of h

she had a knife in one hand  and an apple in the other she could have been either one, really. sweet and bright or cold and painful. but why would that matter to her? she's blood and bone wrapped in skin. there's no core to grow or a blade to slice it down. maybe she's tired and that's why she thinks of this. thinks of sweetness and blades. sweet blades. she was just hungry. so she took the knife in her hand and let it meet the apple in her other. blade against skin. red skin against silver metal. they became friends - or at least she thought they did, seeing the apple let the knife inside it's skin so it wouldn't have to be cold metal

so you look me in the eye and tell me you love me and maybe i'm the idiot, but i just don't seem to understand love is devotion. love is soul searching. love is knowing someone in and out and embracing it. you, hino eiji, don’t seem to get any of this. don’t tell me you love me when you call me out for being selfish don’t tell me you love me when you throw me aside for the life of some guy who barely knows your name don’t tell me you love me when you throw my life on the ground and tell me it doesn't mean anything to you you see, there’s a thing called being alive and it came with borrowing this used up body. no

in the hole in her skin you find one heart still young, still beating quite damaged;              a little more than its meant to be it isn't broken   (or at least it isn't yet) she did this to herself

we're finally dead, you and i we don't carry guns between our fingers anymore we've left them on the bedside table next to    filled diaries           empty bottles of pills now we're sat in front of the television you're trying to relive your whole life again                 pinpoint where we went wrong i just want to get this over with skip to the part where the guns                           fell from our hands