oh but my love is not a red, red rose. i chose to replace every tear on my face with dying embers of every memory you said you would remember.
i trust that you must know that i am not a summer's day, i will never play at being warm or temperate.
you can berate me for not knowing whether i am to be or not to be, but forgive me if i don't play by the rules and exit the right stage in a wrong scene.
it just means that your music is not the food of my love. i will continue to shove your thoughts under a carpet of denial.
do not throw away any vial you might find in my room, you sealed my doom when you stomped down that staircase, tripping on the last time we went for a walk.
my face doesn't run smooth like the course of love, you should have known this truth.
my eyes are not rose petals, my heart not a white dove, my love when they say hell is empty, they haven't been inside my mind - here you'll find horrors of a sweet kind.
Alt title - trash that my 12 y/o self would have absolutely loved.