Sunday, June 5, 2011

the cork

dance and love and hot and friends... and all the while, you're still not here. push and pull and stretch and thin... even a two doesn't fit me anymore. these words and calls past sleeping walls... it's all a fake, a puppet trade; of yours to mine and to compare our share of "heartbreak".

i write about you when i'm drunk.

how does that make you feel?

cause if it's one-fifth of how you make me feel, then, well...

we'll be even on wednesday.

i, my friends, am an idiot.


No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.