17 years of bad luck and counting,
I find myself walking underneath ladders,
Black cats tend to cross my path,
Mirrors crack in my wake,
The reaper and I are close relatives,
See each other on holidays or birthdays
or unsuspected thursdays,
This has made me a corpse of myself
No longer afraid of commitment
but of myself, this fear of losing you
This pain of up all night rejecting all of my insides,
Flushing feelings like dead aquatics,
I care for you too much to see you hurt
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 4:17 PM UTC
17 years of bad luck and counting,
I find myself walking underneath ladders,
Black cats tend to cross my path,
Mirrors crack in my wake,
The reaper and I are close relatives,
See each other on holidays or birthdays
or unsuspected thursdays,
This has made me a corpse of myself
No longer afraid of commitment
but of myself, this fear of losing you
This pain of up all night rejecting all of my insides,
Flushing feelings like dead aquatics,
I care for you too much to see you hurt
