sprinkles splatter on tight clad legs in december, and it should be snow, but the clouds are thinking of committing suicide and haven't got anything to spill but tears
i'm smoking bowl after bowl, trying to ease a mind full of manic mutations and masterfully marred optimism
geminis have a strange way of guessing the words that will slip out of lips of ones like themselves, and tonight i've found a human who entered this world just a week before me
it's almost like a secret club, but the secrecy is terrifying in an electric way, and i'm plugged into an outlet ready to be fried as i spill broken heart after broken heart to a man that understands me all too well
he tells me that he knows not why i ask for advice, because the truth is i'm stubborn and stuck and i know what i want, i'm just wasting away with pride, posture, and predictability every moment that i don't go and get it