poppy hart { five { cbd one { fin

she's thirteen and drunk, fucksakes. curled up in my bed sheets - tangled limbs, tangled hair, tangled heartstrings.

"you're just like her."

dead words speaking of a dead girl. paisley sobs into my chest and i cave in.

i sit in a graveyard and stare at the stone-cold slab my heart (hart) has become.

"she's just like you."

the dead don't talk back. it's easier that way.

and then i turn and walk away.