Obsolescence



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sexessive:

Part of me just wants to cuddle with you until we fall asleep and part of me wants to make you moan until your lungs give out

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Permalink · 60 · 4 days ago

I miss you. 

I miss myself.
That is not the point.
What’s the point. Nothing
We’re a car crash repeating itself over and over again. 
Rapid. 
Heart pounding. 
Heart stopping. 
Explosion. 
We expire within ourselves.
We don’t understand ourselves. We are not ourselves 
You try.
I try. 
We will fail. 
The portions of us we divided are now shared.
We never knew how to share. 
We never knew how to behave. 
We are blood.
Bones.
Skin.
Savage. 
Yet we hold sentiment? Exactly
We are lies. 
Convince me. I have
Am I it?
Tell me I’m all you want? You are
Lies, you lie for the sake of it. 
Our test dummy love. 
We are never put for sale. Until we’re broken
Until they make something we can’t break. We’ve broken us
We’ve broke it? I miss you
I miss myself.
What’s the point? Is it not love?
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