‍ ‍ ‍ ‍ ‍♱ ‍ 𝐀𝖫𝖫 ‍ 𝐇𝖠𝖨𝖫﹐

i was a boy, which meant i was a murderer of my childhood. & like all murderers, my god was stillness.

i sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.

at sixteen, you still think you can escape from your father. you aren't listening to his voice speaking through your mouth, you don't see him in the way you hold your body, you don't hear his whisper in your blood.

i am not my father / no, you're worse.

maybe the reason god hasn't saved me is because i can't bring myself to believe in him.

let it be ever—remembered that the path to hell was paved with good intentions.