I could hope the worst for you,
and believe me, I stopped hoping positively
for a long time.
I could hope that your newfound skill at
the Spanish guitar leaves your fingers in shambles
and splinters.
I could hope that you rot,
like a love-letter
in a landfill.
I could hope you wake up from your trash-heaping heaven,
clawing at the garbage of your past loves
and your skill turns out to be a curse.
But it won't matter.
Because you'll still be kissing her,
and I bet her lips might never get tired.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
I could hope the worst for you,
and believe me, I stopped hoping positively
for a long time.
I could hope that your newfound skill at
the Spanish guitar leaves your fingers in shambles
and splinters.
I could hope that you rot,
like a love-letter
in a landfill.
I could hope you wake up from your trash-heaping heaven,
clawing at the garbage of your past loves
and your skill turns out to be a curse.
But it won't matter.
Because you'll still be kissing her,
and I bet her lips might never get tired.
