It was only when I held it in my hands. When I folded it gently between my palms, in wonder at the shocking lightness of it. When I held it up to my nose and looked cross-eyed at its insides. It was only then that I saw the perfect intricacies of it. It was only when I pried it open. When I traced the spidery web of it, in awe of the fragile unlikeliness of it. When I tugged at the tenuous knots of it.

When I tore it, ripped and stabbed, burned and bled it dry, When I hung it on a meat hook. I realized the luck of it all. Meeting you

But now its a different luck.  It’s My fault again.

Oh god the sweetness of blame.

So Sick of poetic *******, If I have something to say i’m gonna say it. ***** Shakespeare and Brand New and Death Cab. Tonight it’s ACDC