A thousand little deaths screaming with barest blades, rolling down bottled flesh and corked dreams. Few know the ecstasy of agony, the soft, silver scars comforting in the long night. A new weapon; shiney blade that even I cannot deny, though a knife as a gift cuts the friendship (what have i ever given you?) into everlasting shards.
I'd broken a mirror today. Crumbled into ten thousand pieces, buried in deep earth and soaking in desperate water, washing away my sins and filthy luck.
do you even believe anymore?