It's laundry day.
All ******* and bras in queue.
Hey there, bathing suit.

You stab me in the back with a knife,
and I apologize for bleeding on it.

My sadness is mediocre
My words are bland
The thoughts I think were thought before me, I don't understand.
I don't understand why I feel the way I do
But that's supposed to be okay because neither do you..
or you,
...or you.

I'm sorry but I don't want to be like you, though.
I don't want to be a piece of the pie.
I want to be the pan that the pie shapes itself after.
I want to be a blade, a shepherd, and an imprint in time.

My hair is curly, brown, with bronze streaks.
My mood is fairly down with sullen words my world sinks.
Her hair was dark, eyes containing broken earth and lullabies.
My love was true, the only thing not mediocre and that isn't a lie.

Let's dance on a table in a diner full of orphans, and try not to be slaves
to our loneliness.
...Do you love me?
Yes.
...Oh, okay.

Sometimes I want to die so ******* badly, it's hilarious.
I can't **** myself in case she comes back. How amazing.
I can't cut myself because I don't want to scar my flesh because if I do
it may decrease my chances of getting her back.
Even my motivation is mediocre, and my tolerance so strong it could be
mistaken as pathetic.

Put me in a silver chair from across the room she'll stare. My love will go nowhere and I swear to God we are eternal. And you and I infinite, and the world is the wind behind our feet as we run into the inaudible where the world is mute and where our love is loud, in and on my lips you trace the words you did imprint and from lightning you strike the lettered indents you did or did not meant. I cannot decide.

My mouth tastes of chocolate milk, 1993, and 1996.

Insomnia stains my eyes. I can't go to sleep because I see you.

That was so mediocre.

I remember God on the family tree.

I wanna fire you in my veins;
have you ruin my life
I want you to be the cancer, baby
I have to cut out with a knife

I know that you are lonely and I think we need to walk.
I keep wasting words about the weather and other small talk.
You gotta promise to keep pulsing just like the April rain.
Your lips are just flesh but they sure cover all the pain.

I walk beside you because you are my best friend.
We can walk through the park, hand in hand.
I'll keep you safe no matter where, until we reach our end.
I promise to love you past the trees,
but there's one thing I don't understand.

I can't see the harm in loving,
despite all that comes.
There were those that left before me,
but I'm not that one.

Your leaving is death,
but I still keep you alive.  
I wait for you, Kori,
and that's how I survive.

They say you never get over it, you just learn to tolerate.
I let cups of coffee stain my lips to remove your taste.  
I don't wanna think less of you; you can't be someone I hate.
I don't want you to disappear or for my love to go to waste.

I could die from anticipation just to **** the wait.
Until I see you again, my dreams will create
a way to visit you in my own personal paradise.
What it would be to hold you again as you shiver from the ice.

I'm not sure if anyone could love you more than I.
But I welcome them to do, or at least to try.
I want you to be loved. I want you to be happy.
I want you to be loved with or without me.

I want you to be loved.
I want you to be loved.
I want you to be loved
with or without me.

They say we need things
like calcium and sunshine;
I think I'd survive

without all that stuff.
Though I may wither away
without pretty words.

I heard somewhere that
public schools are going to stop
teaching kids how to write
in cursive.

Guess that means we the dying breed of fancy, huh?

But seriously, America, let's get real.
Cursive is the unspoken *** of penmanship.
Its stops and starts are infrequent;
one neverending pleasure stroke of
ups and downs,
comely curves,
delectable edges,
all made in one fluid motion.
It's always somewhat satisfying to pen...
                   ...no matter how sloppy the technique.

See, children need to learn
how to make love on paper
before they grow up
and slip between the sheets.

It's important to teach them
that it's not a crime to take the time
to practice a little patience and appreciation.

After all, that's how love is maintained, right?

Forget e-signatures.
Forget convenience.
But don't forget the simple fact that
everyone needs a little John Hancock.