| Current mood: |  angry |
| Current music: | myasux |
All I can do is look at my fingers and their belongings and wonder why they are mine. Wonder why they do what they do. They scratch and tear up other people's hearts.. and then even my own. They are nothing but dry limbs sticking out of hollow perch full of insects and foreign mold inflicted upon it because I let others inflect upon me. Upon my scotched heart. So wicked are my arched and rawboned limbs. Don't touch them. Don't hold them. They may cause you detriment.
Where are my enemies?
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