You won't consider him dangerous because he always has a weapon on hand
Like an angel with a shotgun
He was unexpected and unplanned
He's not dangerous because he's very experienced, with both women and remedies
He intrigues you
Living a carefree, exciting life is his specialty

He'll draw you in with his deep brown eyes and Cheshire Cat smile
You'll pray he keeps you around for at least a little while
It's no doubt that he has broken more bones than hearts
His hands have never scared you
Yet his poetic words made you cautious from the start

You'll consider him dangerous because he's charming, loving, and kind
No matter how hard you try,
he'll never leave your mind
The spaces between your fingers are right where his fit perfectly
It's as if you were born from the same star, knowing each other for eternity

You'll feel stupid because by now you thought you would've learned your lesson
Don't worry, for he won't **** you with harsh words or leathal weapons
But you'll fall for him and won't remember how or when
He'll **** you by kissing you once and then never again

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I just put in my two weeks
And so should you

another year by herself
convincing her own heart that it thrives when its alone, that somehow watching her friends flip-fall in love is a good thing even though she's nowhere near it
it's okay to be alone
she knows that
everyone is single at one time or another
maybe what hurts is that she has nothing to compare it to
no relationship to look back on with longing
because she understands she isn't entirely desirable
her voice is loud and grating, her mood swings wild and high
she's small and she packs a punch and she opens her fat mouth too much for her own good
boys don't like girls that don't shut up
she feels like such a hypocrite!
she knows she shouldn't aim to please boys and she doesn't, she really doesn't
she just wishes there was a boy who was pleased by her the way she was

To be classifiable, she nervously applies the cake to her nostrils
While splinters stick in her fingertips. 30. To be a woman she
Harvests necrotic insects and dances in Warhol underpants.

I explain how gravity loves the catalogue of your unique hollywood
Romances. Each train takes a new storyline through the ****** treetops
And counterfeit addictions she poises herself in to seem attractive to
Each magazine under her daddy's workbench.

Being a woman is more than big ***** and paint for brains. Some skins Cling to the reels of the love language sprinting through historical Venetian street settings. I smoke ***** with wizards.

For the first time I witness the acatalepsy of the Irish, but narrowly
Passing the beguiling succor that renders the whim of persons
In the acronychal hours.

I'm telling you your hands are my new exoskeleton. I take to you
With the excitement of gravity. New denude photographs of pallor
Fleshes upstay the human trials we are blessed to share in this open sky,
Where I warn the blues of the sky to be jealous of these sciophilous Women who experience the unyielding pressure to feel the pleasures
Our confabulations offer acushla.

I log on after a few days,
With the slightest hope,
That someone might be thinking about me,
On this very day.

How wrong was I about her?
She, who I thought had changed,
She was the only one to think about me today.

Maybe as a friend,
But a thought is a thought,
And sometimes,
A thought is enough to make you smile..

I had lots and lots of naps. What did you people do?