Razor blade soft. Wind whispering every detail until I'm sliced up in guilt. Do you blame me for leaving? You don't want me, even though you make me feel secure. I want you to follow me through my desperation of my misanthropic memory. Please don't turn back within one betrayal step. Thoroughly you thought about the misconception between the forgotten smile and the mourning tears of the beholder in me. The razor blades softness touches my skin and all of my thoughts drift into fantasy.
