On nights when words fail me, tell me—tell me clearly—that the lukewarm vines clinging to me are nothing but an illusion; give me your heart—even something handmade by you will do. If I have a place to weep, I have no need to see the stars. The voice that calls out always turns to sorrow; it only serves to lay bare just how ugly I am. Yet, I need you to want me—for if you do not touch me, I might as well not exist at all.
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﹝Prompt﹞
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1104 x 1840
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lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit
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