You are always put before me regardless of who you are.
Maybe I should use my loneliness as inspiration for art.
Instead than leaving scars behind.
Rather than filling my gap with anything in an effort to block out the hole in my heart.
Perhaps this explains why, despite how frequently it feeds,
I continue to have this disease-smelling primordial hunger.
I tried to convince myself that I enjoyed the taste of rusty passion.
My knees were being scraped by my teeth.
I used to believe that I enjoyed how risky being in love with you felt.
In addition, how many time you have there been.
How many times have I expressed my love for my illness?