I would exist on a different planet for you. One so distant and far away, where my skin wouldn’t constantly rip at the seams. I would lose my sanity for it too, I swear, I would mend every broken piece. I think I’ve found a remedy, finally, for all the fallen teeth. One with stardust and poetry that replaces the soles covering your feet. So fix it, break it, I really wouldn’t care. Let’s move to Mars and shed our skin, you’re fallen moons and lucid dreams.