fumbling touch in the dark
mapping out stars in beauty marks
tracing the lines in my palm
counting beats in the breaks of balm
break the glass to write a note on
a rose red blade to press a throat on
too tender for hell, too young to die
don't wanna stay alive when you're twenty-nine
fingertip caught in a link of chain
bleeding out to ease your private pain
seeking things that will hurt you
sweet and soft just to desert you
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