I'm growing quite tired of girls who aren't you.
It's bitter and cold; however, it's true.
Creating escapes is what I must do;
Escapes to the places where thoughts aren't like glue.
A cigarette burns at the tip of my lips
As I sit here and write this while coming to grips
With the fact that I'll never be blessed by your lips
And I burn like my cigarette, stuck in my lips.
The ashes they fall on my shirt nonchalant
As I hope and I pray for a mental détente,
But commanding my mind is an ill commandant
Who is ever-salacious; forever in want.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 3:08 AM UTC
I'm growing quite tired of girls who aren't you.
It's bitter and cold; however, it's true.
Creating escapes is what I must do;
Escapes to the places where thoughts aren't like glue.
A cigarette burns at the tip of my lips
As I sit here and write this while coming to grips
With the fact that I'll never be blessed by your lips
And I burn like my cigarette, stuck in my lips.
The ashes they fall on my shirt nonchalant
As I hope and I pray for a mental détente,
But commanding my mind is an ill commandant
Who is ever-salacious; forever in want.
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