high and dry in parallel lines where none meets goes grrrreat with reconstructing the mind with poison. and somehow the world is now so squared and incomplete. he said take me on a parachute; i replied im already plunging head first anyway.
and time? time buys you even more bad decisions, turning away from regrets. this is what i shamelessly admit- putting up a front only means adhering the creaks of a broken vase and when the glue starts to wear off you mull over at finding an alternative because it has always been the shittiest mechanism. on god, broken things can never be fixed as a whole again. trying to repair any way you can, but we're not carpenters.
one day everything will be genuine again