i came here to write, not play iSpy with turtles in the duck-crap encrusted, man-made lake of the park i grew up going to
i came here to tell a story. the story about the way your eyes were in between green and brown and how i always told you they were very ugly because hatred and love-written-in-Times New Roman-and-printed-then-ripped-to-shreds were your only two emotions (but we were in seventh grade then and i actually didn't say any of that because i actually thought you were perfection manifested into the form of a bowl-cut haired Iranian boy)
i came here to paint the walls of your room sanguine instead of Southern sky blue (it's blood, not paint (that's why i'm laughing)) and tattoo words i don't know the definition to all over your inner thighs (i'll use my mouth if you want, even though i already told you i wasn't here to fool around)
actually, i came here to tell you that i love you