all my friends loved drugs or liked to get ****** up
my boyfriend would shoot ****** and paint with my blood
i’ll sure as hell miss downing pills
but i think i want to live instead

i loved white nights bleaching my eyelids
i loved brunette boys who made me feel like jesus
getting ****** on rooftops watching the sun collapse
but i’m tired of waking up and feeling like ****

i had fun drinking ***** on hot, summer nights
and placing pills under my tongue until the world was vivid neon lights
holding hands with the boy who drank too much lean
but i think i want to make it past 2013

I spend a lot of time thinking,
so I've had some time to make up my mind.
But you spend a lot of time drinking,
leaving your morals and reasoning behind.

I spend a lot of time reading,
because I crave the escape of a fictional fantasy life.
But you spend a lot of time bleeding,
because you crave an escape only found through a knife.

I spend a lot of time worrying,
because I fear you'll never make it out of this town alive.
But you spend a lot of time hurrying;
dismissing everything that matters to stay busy,
just to survive.

I spend a lot of time laundering
your ***** clothes with stains of blood
that just won't seem wash out.
But you spend a lot of time wandering;
always searching,
but never finding what love is really about.

I spend a lot of time thinking,
so I've had some time to make up my mind.
You can carry on your drinking,
I've decided it's time to leave you behind.

Everything is changing,
but your haircut still looks the same.

I've never really loved the look of "perfect" on a person.

But I've loved crooked teeth
and chapped lips
and the rips in his sweater
and calloused palms
and acne scars along his jawbone
and eyes that are slightly slanted upward
and pant legs that are too short
and watches worn with the time set two minutes early
and hair that always looks the same
and loud voices in libraries
and quiet whispers at crowded parties
and twisted ****** expressions
and dilated pupils
and the way too much of his gum shows when he smiles
and beauty marks in secret places
and the same white t-shirt worn over and over again
and eye colours that are indistinguishable
and cold, blank stares at 3 am
and hopeful stares at the break of dawn
and messy writing that's hard to read
and untied shoe laces
and lisps
and stutters
and jeans worn too low
and fists that make holes in walls
and breath that reeks of coffee
and lips that taste of tobacco
and eyelids that are heavy after a long day
and fading bruises
and bushy eyebrows
and clumsy feet
and hunched postures
and hands that are always too cold
and bandages stuck onto odd places
and cologne that's a little too strong...

 because I think that showing what is imperfect is what makes a person worth loving.