19 years old. Hopeless romantic with a dirty mind. I'm a nice girl, but shy and sometimes awkward.
You don’t always have to tell people you love them. You just have to give them no reason to doubt it.
I read somewhere that drugs kill you slowly,
almost romantically, like they care about you.
And oh baby you should have known better than to love someone
who bites where they’re supposed to kiss,
and pushes where they’re supposed to pull closer.
When his hands touched your face for the first time,
you should have listened to your mother when she told you
that the devil had pretty eyes and soft skin and looked a lot
like a boy who kissed you like
he might eventually love you.
You will only learn about the dangers of loving a boy
who was so intoxicating,
he would only love you back in small doses;
while you are injecting him
straight into your bloodstream.