so...you think you can write? (original) (raw)

[	mood	|	weird	]

Withered willow of a woman, trying to carry the world on her shoulders.

Her own personal Jesus is convulsing on the floor again.

Muttering such sweet little nothings into the sharp edge of a needle.

“One more hit, baby, that’s all I need.”

“One more hit, and then I’ll be able to write…”

Yet his pen never touches a single page.

But remember, honey, you love him.

You work three jobs for him.

(Supporting his habit)

He’s your life.

(And your death)

He’s your savior.

(And executioner)

Pull through.

(Run, baby, run)

Withered willow of a woman, trying to carry his crucifix, stumbling

Her own personal Jesus, groping euphoria again

“One more hit, baby, that’s all I need.”

“One more hit, and then I’ll grab my guitar…”

It’s still gathering cobwebs in the corner.

But remember, honey, you love him.

You stand by him.

(For better or for worse. FOR WORSE)

He’s your world.

(And your HELL)

He’s your rock.

(Crumbling underneath your feet)

Pull through.

(Get out)

Pull through.

(Get the fuck out)

Pull through.

(Run while you still can)

Pull through

(GET THE FUCK OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN!)