For me and nobody else
TW: Suicide
They're made of pills, and are slowly dying
A love poem on reassurance. The repetition on 'Baby just...' in an instrumental inspired me to write this piece โพ.
Scabs and scars, still my wounds spread. Don't sew me up; fuck that thread.
You tried to diagnose me by looking in a book
Head full of curls is about my struggle with my parents not accepting me, but accepting my brother because he's cis and straight. It also mentions the fact that I've run out of my medication.
No news on the medkit. No way to cure her aunt. What can Shifa do anymore?
Medication may not be the answer, but it's the only answer I have.
For me and nobody else
TW: Suicide
They're made of pills, and are slowly dying
A love poem on reassurance. The repetition on 'Baby just...' in an instrumental inspired me to write this piece โพ.
Scabs and scars, still my wounds spread. Don't sew me up; fuck that thread.
You tried to diagnose me by looking in a book
Head full of curls is about my struggle with my parents not accepting me, but accepting my brother because he's cis and straight. It also mentions the fact that I've run out of my medication.
No news on the medkit. No way to cure her aunt. What can Shifa do anymore?
Medication may not be the answer, but it's the only answer I have.