sometimes i cling to words to try and find passageways that aren't there. every once in a while when i'm hovering really high i'll create my own alleys. i can gather some sentences you shared with me the day before and take them into naive corners. and so my imaginative mind goes : : :
somewhere on 5th and Seneca we will meet. your every footstep will fill in colors on abandoned roads, and on my atlas (my body, my mind) parts of woman will grow. the missing 'gene' will find its home and a husband i will yearn for. finally i will be a complete journey. you've walked on, sampled, and decided to keep.
you say one thing that 5 other girls heard and i tell myself it's okay. it means more with me. from your mouth it means more. you mean it more with me i know it. (silly, silly, love girl. you will only hurt yourself.) but i am okay with the pain. i am still here, so i must be okay with the pain. my love is not quite full, not quite empty. i can never truly applaud you, and i can never truly desecrate you, yet, i'm never as happy as when i get to tear you lustfully with rage for receiving selfishly what i put on the platter passively.
and so my imagination stops. pulls at me. stops. pulls. stops. oh how i wish i could yank its chain and strangle this infatuation with it.
somewhere on 5th and Seneca we will meet. your every footstep will fill in colors on abandoned roads, and on my atlas (my body, my mind) parts of woman will grow. the missing 'gene' will find its home and a husband i will yearn for. finally i will be a complete journey. you've walked on, sampled, and decided to keep.
you say one thing that 5 other girls heard and i tell myself it's okay. it means more with me. from your mouth it means more. you mean it more with me i know it. (silly, silly, love girl. you will only hurt yourself.) but i am okay with the pain. i am still here, so i must be okay with the pain. my love is not quite full, not quite empty. i can never truly applaud you, and i can never truly desecrate you, yet, i'm never as happy as when i get to tear you lustfully with rage for receiving selfishly what i put on the platter passively.
and so my imagination stops. pulls at me. stops. pulls. stops. oh how i wish i could yank its chain and strangle this infatuation with it.