burn the years: you know of all the friends i've had you're my first
when all your truths become all your lies and all your lies become all their lives. sick of fighting so i cleaned the mirror to wash away my imperfections. without an anchor and i find myself needing you less and less. it's the boy in the blue shirt that untied me from where i was docked, sitting by a bay of freedom but unable to swim. it's the little things, your eyes milky white with pain, that repulse me. and it's getting harder to embrace ideas like these in a storm of sovereignty. sick of wanting so i smashed the mirror to delete my imperfections. this is an IOU to the boy in the blue shirt.
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SN–—
M