theres a possibility her emotions are reflections of the city lights she loves so much
the music she listens to is contradictory to what she listens to without headphones
through crowded streets, she just wants to hear someone tell her to not give up with a guitar lead behind that voice
she loves coffee because she's sick of despite
she sweetens up her bitter self with caffè americano
there's a slight chance that being in love at a young could be true and pure
not under my silk sheets for that matter though
she lays her head on pillows that feel like her breast on which I lay my head on
they say the body likes the warmth of sheets in the blistering cold mornings while waking up
when really the sheets cant stand her body not being wrapped in them
i think its safe to say that shes the atmosphere in my world that keeps the bad things from breaking in my broken nice gestures
i think without precaution i can say that ******* is the weakest of addictions in my world that shes in
and her voice I love to listen to is are injections that cure from things I dont want to hear
the taste of her lips take away my dehydrated mouth with taste that fills my buds and fills my heartless body with hearty hearts