Don’t ever let me get desperate, stressed in every situation, while each insinuation becomes a bitter forgery of a false advertisement. I’d rather take the wheel into the woods, or to the rocks, twist in the shackles until my blood clots in aged calligraphic dots upon metal and rust. Cages for the carnival, bread for the animals. Blood for the lovers that fell asleep at the wheel.

@2 months ago with 16 notes