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.
~k.
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everything you want to believe
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