Thursdays are for psychoanalyzing love letters I never sent you.
**** you for being in love with someone else.
**** me for waiting on you.
Also, **** your ******* & the time my lips
got stuck in your braces & they bled
for 8 hrs & the first time
you borrowed my lighter & that time
we passed each other & none of us said
hi but we looked each other in the eye
the whole time & 2 minutes after
you were out of sight i knew, winter
has started;
winter has come, and i dared to hope it would
stay; that it would never leave me the way
you did.
I should have stayed, away but how
could I when I knew you were trouble
in human form and you knew I was a trainwreck
waiting to happen, waiting for you.
There were so many chances to tell you what I’d give to watch you sleep,
Approximately four, since the first time I watched you eat lunch alone.
I stopped counting on the 33rd day I remembered
that circumstance and I were born enemies.
Love gives you a bad name.
The moral of the story is that
I need to remember : that hoping is the worst thing
I have ever done and can ever do,
and to forget your face.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Thursdays are for psychoanalyzing love letters I never sent you.
**** you for being in love with someone else.
**** me for waiting on you.
Also, **** your ******* & the time my lips
got stuck in your braces & they bled
for 8 hrs & the first time
you borrowed my lighter & that time
we passed each other & none of us said
hi but we looked each other in the eye
the whole time & 2 minutes after
you were out of sight i knew, winter
has started;
winter has come, and i dared to hope it would
stay; that it would never leave me the way
you did.
I should have stayed, away but how
could I when I knew you were trouble
in human form and you knew I was a trainwreck
waiting to happen, waiting for you.
There were so many chances to tell you what I’d give to watch you sleep,
Approximately four, since the first time I watched you eat lunch alone.
I stopped counting on the 33rd day I remembered
that circumstance and I were born enemies.
Love gives you a bad name.
The moral of the story is that
I need to remember : that hoping is the worst thing
I have ever done and can ever do,
and to forget your face.
