You’re nothing but a parasite feeding off of broken hearts to survive. Your bones are brittle and your body’s weak but I won’t let your corrupted soul get the best of me. I’m on my way.
I’m having a hard time keeping up. The complexity of the situation seems to magnify on a daily basis. My amount of sincerity and care increases, but my creativity to express it has worn thin. I’ve begun to feel old, as if my heart has seen far too many battles and even though It comes out victorious, it can’t come out unscathed. It is eternally wounded. My heart will perpetually recount these battle scars.
