The truest parts of the feeling within skinned by insecurities in him, will no longer retort to the truth — this half-decade charace of wasted youth. Yeah, yeah I’m dying. Please don’t say the words he screams - please don’t let me go. Please don’t cut me up again just to turn and go. How many ways can I say I care? Run my fingers through your silky hair, look up and see the pale skin of your back as you walk away again….
Win.
Smart answer to a stupid question.
^ Looks like my dude if he was really young. :3
(Source: crimsonclimax)
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