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sweater weather:x

X: marks the spot
i’ve always wanted to tell you: you are the Plath to my heart. the little piece of Misery that Stephen King wanted to ram down my throat instead of just kissing me sweetly on the lips and sending down the snow.
you are the plath to my heart and you’ve used that to your advantage; the past ten days, my words have been bleeding tears about your decay, about my emotional ions becoming warped out of proportion and moved into a new state completely.
you are the plath to my heart and no, i can’t lie and say that’s a good thing; you can’t asphyxiate in my life and expect me to cry twenty-4/ se7en.
You’re not going to make me do this.
you are the plath to my heart, and maybe i am a bit a lowell and i’ve let you escape away from me, maybe it is a bit of my fault, maybe it is, maybe it is, but it’s not all mine, because you didn’t try, you wouldn’t try to snap me awake and show me the love i ought to have given you. instead you have let me cry and die in the guilt of mine and let you bleed me dry of my red blood black inks.
you are the plath to my heart, and i must escape this shoe, since i have lived far to much like a shoe.
i want to breathe, i want to achoo
my sex comes in tons and now you’ll now you’re the wrong path, you’re a sillier plath and not one i wish to idolize much longer.
( a resolution has been passed; not much more of myself i can ask except for a little fat~can i keep it real?)



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