the thought of having *** makes me ill
this place holds the time we first kissed
go backwards with me
stay, lets lay underneath the moon for another year
I'm bored of the constant mention of the heart
of the condition of my own
of not knowing whether yours keeps its blood moving for mine
I've become indifferent to the gentle heedlessness of the world
I have your hands to wipe my tears with now
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
the thought of having *** makes me ill
this place holds the time we first kissed
go backwards with me
stay, lets lay underneath the moon for another year
I'm bored of the constant mention of the heart
of the condition of my own
of not knowing whether yours keeps its blood moving for mine
I've become indifferent to the gentle heedlessness of the world
I have your hands to wipe my tears with now
