If I were newspaper,
And you fire;
Your flames, consuming me,
Would burn higher.
You eating up my words,
I'd go on unheard
As you read over me,
A decent fuel, finally.
When I think about my life too much I cry.
- - -
Applies to my relationships with various people,
all in different ways, different possible interpretations.
- - -
Read "The Storyteller."
Drugs and *** were never meant for 6 year-old girls to be exposed to.
-