heads
i love you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and think about the good times

tails*
i hate you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and cry about the good times

although i'm not in love with you anymore
i still think about you fondly in my dreams

you've got me sitting
alone
in my room
listening to the music you like
trying to figure you out
trying to decide if you like me
if you want me

my mother says
"he probably doesn't know either"

and i'm frustrated
because someone has to
someone has to understand
and i don't
and i have to
i have to understand
you're a puzzle i can't solve
is this something i'm doing to myself?
nothing is as analytical as i need it to be
your tones of gray are confusing me
and i can't find a way to organize
the things you say to me

but to say i don't enjoy the task
would be a lie
because it does, in fact,
make me feel alive
i want you to want me,
that's very true
but it won't be easy
to convince me
that it's okay to want you

you're delicate
you make me feel light and airy
you remind me of sunrises and
foggy, chilly mornings
and bright sunflowers
which are my favorite kind
you're soft and kind
you make me feel happy

and i want you to **** me with everything you've got

I remember the day we met.
Not the date, but the day.
Your best friend was dating my best friend and considering they were our only friends in the sixth grade, we spent a good amount of time together.

I haven't seen that friend in years and I doubt you've seen yours in just as long.

Please don't let that happen to us.

your close friends are leaving you soon

and i don't know if i'll be here when they do

unless you clean up your act real quick

there's not much else i can do

because i'm going to love me before i love you

it's in your head, darling
it's all in your head
it isn't real
you're making it up

you're so paranoid, baby
they don't think about you
not nearly as much as you assume
you're making it up

you're so pessimistic, honey
no one can be that bad
you're perfectly normal
you're making it up

you're so conceited, gorgeous
loving boys with your toes in the water
when they're up to their necks in you
you're making it up

you think too much, darling
no one analyzes this the way you do
no one cares as much as you do
but oh, what if they did?

Jeg har altid hadet hospitaler.
Hospitaler med deres hvide vægge.
Lægerne med deres hvide kitler.
Glassene med de hvide piller.
Sengene med det hvide betræk.
Og for engangskyld hadede jeg månen. Så klam og hvid. Så pisse irriterende hvid og rund.
-*** var ret hvid.
Ikke på den klamme og irriterende måde, men på en måde, der lyste i mørke. Som en gadelygte midt i nattens ingenting. En gadelygte, der lyste både dag og nat.
Pludselig slukkede den.
*** fortalte mig, at tidlige aftener bliver til morgener sent.
Mine hvide fingre strøg gennem hendes bølgede hår.
*** kiggede på mig med hendes lysende øjne. Jeg kiggede tilbage.
*** smilede.
Jeg tog fat i elefanten og gav den til hende. *** klemte den helt ind til sig, og en grå tåre faldt fra hendes hvide kind.

*f.b

What's one more pill to a man who's taken thousands?
It depends;
if you're running out and you drop one under the fridge, it's enough to move the fridge.
If you've taken eight but can't seem to fall asleep one might just do the trick.
If you're trying to sober up one might mean starting the cycle again.