every word that comes tumbling out of your superfluous lips is loaded with wholesome irreverence, weighing leaded and cruel upon my heart by the pale recycled light of the moon.
déjà vu lingers before my bleary eyes again, as crumbs of flightlessness slip through my fingers, again. and I can see you unfolding us, dissecting us, laying out all of the pieces in a heart-wrenching vivisection.
and I know you can't really **** something that's been near death for years, but when do you give up on resuscitation?