Loaded gun; with the glares of girls shooting
their shot. X marks the spot of where she aimed for
my heart.
It hurts to love, it hurt me plenty in the fall,
I was in the air; floating, waiting for what they say
it means to be in love.
Slowtown, right around the corner of the rush
of my feelings. A crush is a rock you carry on the strength
of wishful thinking, and desire.
Overcrowded in the room of sickly ones,
wickedly sickened by a love sickness. Love sticks to the air,
Untamed by the consequences it must carry.
Yet you only see what you what, but still a love
sick fool is the reason for it being so blind.
Do you still as a youth glance at a potential lover,
or does maturity see a future?
