The Ink That Bleeds Out Of My Fingers Is Purple. I Think Its Meant To Be Blue But Its Mixing With My

the ink that bleeds out of my fingers is purple. I think it’s meant to be blue but it’s mixing with my blood

hair is gendering very nicely today. 10/10 very much recommend

it turns out I am nothing but a bleeding poet sitting atop a throne that I have earned in all the wrong ways and that I do not want

so. I wrote a poem. and im not really sure what to think about it but right now it’s giving rosekiller vibes. anyway. here it is:

I love your special kind of crazy,

I love the way you make me bleed,

but as I spend time away from you,

I realise you’re no crazier than me.

I was given so many second chances,

but I think the only thing I need,

is your crooked smile and broken heart,

and the way you make me bleed,

broken pieces and bloodstained hands,

you scream and bite, not afraid to draw blood,

I’ve died in your arms but here I still stand,

amongst dying flowers and my everlasting love,

I love your scars and bruises and the way you catch me before I fall,

but the way you’re not afraid to make me bleed is my most favourite thing of all.

(pls don’t steal xx)

what do you do when it feels like the world is ending but its only 8 in the afternoon on a random day in february and there's still so much more to do but nothing more to live for