Stop. Breathe. Live.

I’ll live until my breathing hurts and it’s too late to stop. I’m addicted to this and it burns through the nights with and without you. I’ll be your bad influence. I’ll be your bad friend. But I’ll have a good time. And I’ll make it up to you in the end with butterfly notes wrapped in a chord of A minor (mishap). I don’t want to be your broken friend. I’m together enough to fill nights with love and passion for everything you hate, and together enough to realize in the end how this is helping me fall apart. Love me for what I am, what I’m doing, what I’m turning into.

I’ll be you’re melody of mistakes.