in which five knuckles and four spaces were the only faces that ever turned a light on for me. Or off, as a matter of fact.
Write it on a flier, or tie her up in the back of a limousine, ask her to give you some sugar and send you to sleep.
Just don't be weird about it. And seriously,
pay attention,
you just might
burn something.
I think my voice is changing.
I press four fingers into my forehead and smoke a cigarette like that one writer I was too cool to ever read. You know, they treat you like a ******* drug? A ******* drug!
Past lovers, and their coat hangars, I don't wanna talk to 'em, I don't wanna touch 'em.
But I do; it's easy to cut into those veins once you've found 'em.
*I'm sorry, so prone to wasting time, I love when my head spins on an axis all of its own.