I’ve missed the familiar sting of the blade slicing the skin. The dark warm red running down my leg. The familiar burn on the alcohol after cleaning the wound. Stick a Band-Aid on it, and no one knows.
6 months clean, down the drain.
i feel like once you were emo in middle school youre low key emo for the rest of your life, like you could be 20 in the middle of college wearing uggs or whatever but once you hear the first key to the black parade/i write sins/sugar we’re going down you sprout an imaginary fringe and start yelling your lungs out like its 2007 all over again
This is the truest thing I’ve seen on this website.