to the people who believe they are dead; you are alive in more ways than you think.

if you keep wanting me to remember; why the worst? my eyes see too much of your blue lips - and i forget to hear your heart. if you keep telling me to stay, why here? i’m not fond of this place - so rotten like autumns apple. if you keep me close to you, why not in your heart? i’m tired of sleeping behind your ribs – they scrape my skin like sand paper. if you’re hoping for me; do not hope on every clock. for hope shall surly kill every breath of you.

-always always R.