So when did cigarettes start cluttering your hands? I ponder this some nights alone when I undress. And what do you do with those boys I see you with, or better yet, what would I do if you came back? I’d say no, or I hope I could, but I still want you. And what do you think I would do after you left? Would I stay sober? I think it’d be much worse. I’d cut my arms off. No regeneration.
“Your face lit up and for once, I enjoyed where I was.
The truth is jade plants die, the truth is muscles atrophy,
Softening your skin and hardening mine.”—‘Houses We Die In’ by Pianos Become The Teeth. (via deadvultures)