small notes

My heart can’t speak to me as it cruelly hires my mind to do so. My mind doesn’t have gallons of blood; doesn’t know what red is, doesn’t know shaky hands; doesn’t know how to rent my veins to somebody; how to allow them wander around and swim in my blood searching for an eternal home. I helplessly watch my heart and mind battle and I harshly make other hearts heartless, I leave them ponder whether or not to rent their red rooms to somebody else.

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