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This is a mood so bad, it hurts.
“And you tried to change, didn’t you? Closed your mouth more. Tried to be softer, prettier, less volatile, less awake… You can’t make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that. And if he wants to leave, then let him leave. You are terrifying, and strange, and beautiful. Something not everyone knows how to love.” —Warsan Shire, For Women Who Are Difficult To Love
I didn’t mean for it to end this way. Sometimes love is... betrayal. The coins. A priceless kiss. I’ll hang myself tonight after I see the blue in your lips. He’s compelled by a higher power. Everything will be alright in the end. His master has gotten out of scrapes a thousand times before. His love cheats death. Did I tell you anything? Did I confess all my sins? I am so dirty. Filthy. Unwashed. Unclean. Guilt washes over me. Belief or distance. Ultimatums made of secrets and crucifix kisses. I mourned for you, but you did not take the time to notice me. My Christ has been stolen. I wish for a different life. My mind. Broken and tired. It burns when he’s asleep. The rope will never break. Prophecy.