I want smoke in
my lungs and gin
in my veins and
lips on my
lips and chills down
my spine to feel
dreams sweet and
brief I don't want
a thing but craving
weekends are made of
passion makes us do things
like fall in love with strangers
on a two day binge
doing unspeakable things
to one another
making our bodies cringe
moments of pleasure
we'll both soon forget
but living fast is fun
the best time spent!
Monday always forbids us
introducing the heartbreak game
you used my body
and I forgot your name
weekends are simply a fantasy
with their share of pain
"it was nice knowing you,
glad you came."
Waking up in a hazy fog
Regular Sunday Morning
It is Sunday right?
Bits and pieces of last night rushing to the forefront of my mind
but a feeling that there's a missing piece of vital information
aaaaaaand there's a stranger next to me
she's so still!
God I hope she's alive
My jeans are still on so we obviously didn't do anything
wait why are my jeans ripped?
Did they come this way?
No they didn't
my shoes are still on too
well at least one is anyway
where the hell is my other shoe
how does somebody lose one shoe
losing a pair is actually more understandable
I should probably go wash the glitter off my hands
wait why do I have glitter on my hands?
aaaaand I have a black eye
who did I fight?
probably got my ass handed to me
or maybe I beat up an asshole!
no probably the former
I can't fight for shit
My head is killing me
I should probably call somebody
help fill me on what the hell happened last night
Aw shit where the hell is my phone?
wait where the hell is my wallet?!
Well fuck... shitty memory, comatose stranger in my bed, ripped jeans (although I'm 73 percent sure they came this way), missing a shoe, glitter hands, black eye, sore head, no phone, and no wallet
I fucking love saturday nights
I gave myself the weekend
To feel something much different.
I met you on a weekend,
You reminded me of a time much less tainted.
I lost myself for a second,
So I can hear your breathing,
Life can be so deceiving,
When you feel like your not living.
Im much familiar with this.
Giving shelter to the hopeless.
For this is my curse,
Needing to be needed.
I left my daydreams on that weekend.
Reality, tends to kick into me.
Im so found of the freeness,
And addicted to the feeling.
Let everyday be a weekend,
A time where we can lose ourselves for no reasons.
it's friday night
and you're intoxicated
you seem excited to talk to me
we make plans for a road trip
i know we will never take
but even still
i'm ecstatic that we're speaking again
it's saturday afternoon
and you're back to your old self
you seem bored with me
we talk briefly about the weather
that really does not matter
but even still
i'm glad that we still talk
it's sunday morning
and you're not talking to me
you seem to be ignoring me again
you're visiting your mother
i'm sitting in silence
but even still
i'm hoping that you're thinking of me
Saturday night, offered to read your palm
When I don't even know how to read palms,
It was just an excuse to get to touch you.
And oh, touch you I did,
Sunday morning, nursing hangovers with scenic strolls,
Until our palms get sweaty and we let go.
And next weekend we'll do this again,
Gold saturation in bed under blankets/Silver saliva /The hue of your iris /It's gaudy not quiet /Deliver your brightest /And best/Your dingiest vest /Is still so crisp and clean/Stomp a few times/Laugh at our voices /Curve of your hand/Can't catch my inertia/Quiver imagine /Exaggerated action/You're tongue somehow fits in my mouth.