Blow that bad romance till the world ends
To put up with me.
I’m sorry for them all, loved and hated.
The Beast guides my heart and destroys what’s in it’s path.
I clear my bed and switch roles with that which makes me so uncomfortable.
Excruciatingly painful and gives me pleasure all at once.
Am I so awful?
For the first time I can listen to that song and I keep the lights on. All night.
I put my dress on, thank god I don’t have the collection to tell you what I am.
Bleed through my pores and let me show the world my weakness, my voice.
Drain me, suck me out dry. Force me to scream no more.
Kill me. Annihilate me. Fuck it, teach me and allow me to comprehend what I fear so much.
Changing into something that once had a key but no longer can be opened…or refreshed.
Start me over.
I ran and now I run. I run toward something so pure and unbelievably suggestive.
It’s alright because there is nothing left. Everything is alright.
Things could always be worse, more destructive, numb and meaningless.
I found meaning in such miniscule positions.
But not really.
Does this make sense? No?
Untouched (oolala) because I am lazy and a few glasses in.