Less thanĀ 

I don’t know how much I’ve learned of love, or lust or what happens in the in between, but I do know that getting lost in another broken person doesn’t make you feel whole. When you cut yourself on their shards, and still tend to their wounds, you end up feeling less than, and sometimes less than you’ve ever felt before


What keeps me awake in the pit of the night is not that I’m broken, or breaking again, but that I’m irreparable, and there is little point in anything I try. It’s no wonder I often rise in the morning and feel the weight of futility, under a dawn thats pales in comparison to dusk.