Jeepers Creepers heading your way I may not drive but i'll hunt your soul anyway a delicious treat worth the run can't wait for the rush it's going to be so fun darlin you're not prepared for what I'm going to do It will be worth not making it out Alive at least cuz I know you'll be missing something and it's going to be mine so what will you give up what will you trade for me because honey I'm going to take it all last thing you'll remember is the fall surrounded by feeling surrounded by something why don't you come find out cuz I'm going to leave you guessing the suspense almost palatable you will know what you truly desire but who knows if I'll give it but I will take something whether you like it or not the question is are you brave enough to face the unknown
Are we dreaming again? We’re pollen Whirling in the sky, oscillating between low and high. Pendulum swinging freely but always coming back to me. We’re just dreaming. What would I do without your fantasy? As much as it hurts, this is sanctity. Let’s confront this transfixion. Why come all this way to be written as fiction? We could transcend this tension, even though we’re so afraid. I’d love you again anyway, if you would just wait for me.
Love is a boulevard, Sometimes we're in different lanes. If all's going well, then I guess it's the same. But what of the self-imposed roadblocks, Or closures for repairs? Things never gotten round to, and now Some roads lead nowhere
I want to go to the gym I want to run on the treadmill I want to burn off all my fat and burn off all my skin I want to lean out of my window and puff the cigar that’s collecting dust downstairs I want to slip ***** in my drinks and sit in the below-zero weather I want to feel a different kind of warmth I want to fill my lungs with a different kind of air A different kind of burn I want to learn how to play the piano I want to take care of my voice I want to be better with my father As if I have a choice I want to be happy I want to write this down in pen I want to be free But, frankly, in the end Is it really up to me?
you want to see how soft and tender my flesh is and crack the inside of my mind open like a pomegranate, ruby jewels spilling onto white sheets. i offer my plum ripe heart to you greedily prey wanting to be hunted, only to be left with sticky hands from trying to hold myself together when you walk away.