2009
11.16
11.16
That morning I woke up thinking
‘It’s your Birthday again’
I know because while I never say a thing about it
I wake up thinking about you
Every fucking year.
I hope your Birthday sucks.
That morning I woke up thinking
‘It’s your Birthday again’
I know because while I never say a thing about it
I wake up thinking about you
Every fucking year.
I hope your Birthday sucks.
Flowers Buckle At The Sound Of your Voice
The Phone Vibrates With your Sweet Nothings
The Vibrations Don’t Hold The Same Earthquake your Lips Do
I Can’t Appreciate Those Nothings When They’re Pixelated
I Can’t Be So Far Away When you Are But A Few Inches From Me
Hold On Tight
It Hurts So Good
I Want To Look In your Mirror And See My Stale Silhouette
Im Sorry When I Write About you
I Write Tragedy
Lather and Rinse Me Clean Of My Faults
Repeat If Needed
When My Pen Touches Paper
your Essence Shows Up In The Markings
I Want My Sharpie To Bleed Thick Black
But It Will Only Flow Blonde
you Are Omnipresent
In Lilies
In My Ipod’s Shuffle
In My Peach Ring Candy
Blessing Or Curse
I Can’t Know
Basking In My Enhanced Misery
I Sit Chain Smoking At The Bus Stop
Watching People Pass
Looking At Womyn With More Lust Than Before
You