sorrow is our master, cackling with laughter

Previous Entry Share Next Entry
You make me sick.
One message from you is all it takes. 
I am rendered incapacitated, sick, a 12/10 on the pain scale, puking my guts out. 

... I have chronic headaches, and we blame it on the fact that my temporomandibular joint is crushing my trigeminal nerve on the right side. 
But not like that. Not on the meds. 

No matter what happens, you'll always be able to reduce me to ashes. 

"Let me ruin your life, let me break your heart, then I’ll ask you why we can’t be friends. Let me rip your world into little pieces, let me destroy who you thought you were, and then I’ll ask if we can be friends.”


Log in