I can't think of your face without cracking the bones in my hands. I'll leave you to the blankness. It's more than you left me.
Please break the pattern.
It's sucking on the more than the worthless. Swept under the blanket; That's where you met me. It's bleeding innocent all over in a sense that matters. Always just empty.
Gone for good.
You can take that how you want.
Song views her little useless wings as a representation of false hope; she hates them and always tries to chew them off. But the pain is too much so she never succeeds.
I'll scrap this tonight. It's just that this feeling is familiar and so here is a familiar face to match it.