I’m still trying to fix up the wreckage you left behind, the chaotic strings of misery you let fall to the floor. Each piece delicately piercing my skin, the red glow a contrast to my continual white limbs.
There won’t be anyone else. I can tell you that right now. Your eyes show me that you don’t believe that just yet. Even if it takes me months or years. I’ll make you believe it so.
