It is so foolish and too dangerous
to care for much these days.

"Is it a boy?"

the cab driver hands me the receipt,
"You're too young and pretty to be so sad".

I agree that I'm too young to be this miserable.
I burst into tears as I scrawl a signature on the piece of paper.

But this boy I cry over. He hides behind a white doorway while my head is in my hands,
and I am crying, I am drunk, but I am not drunk enough to be excused from calling him a coward.

He doesn't understand,
my coping mechanism--catalyst--and the curtain that pulls the facade down is the *****.

Not that un-understandable, in my opinion, really.

And he thinks it'll be better for me to talk about it sober tomorrow
And I thought it would be better for it to not have happened.

And I think he's not going to get much better,
         and it's too bad because he think I'll turn back into my desensitized self,
    which is better
                          for him

but there is light that cannot be turned out now
without burning out, blazing, in this way
and all he needed to do was to hold me tonight,
and everything could've been better, would've been best

woulda-coulda-didn't

and now my bed is made, I'll alone rest.

Everything is too soaked in wine
for me to comprehend why

why
why

they'd be so cruel
in misunderstanding

wish I could say

wish you were here
wish you were near
wish you could stay

wish I could say

wish I wouldn't go
wish I didn't know
wish for no pain

wish I could say**

wish I'd see you again
wish it wasn't so
wish you'd come by
wish you didn't say no

sometimes i am
the dumb moth
that puts itself
in the little lamp

that everyone says to
no no you can get out
the window is there

go go go go go go go

be free

but i just go
      where where
and beat grey soft wings
against the glass

until
i say

**** it

and try
and try

to **** or fight or or or or
or throw myself
        onto the blazing light

he has hair like
an anime character

and

perfectly straight
eyelashes

and

I like it when he's sweet to me
but not so much when he's mean
-----------
but I deserve it, the littlest bit

we're both very mean

I'm sorry I'm so mean.

I think I tried to sell my soul to Satan for the inability to feel painful emotions when I was younger.
If there is a God I hope Satan didn't listen to the wishes of a little girl.

The two could be related, but that's easy game.