the moon.to the moon, i swore that i would run to the sea and throw myself in, id wash myself clean. in the icy atlantic, i swore i'd be free. till the moment i died, you'd never bind me.the moon.
but in the balmy pacific, i fell to my knees and the shoreline witnessed my words as i screamed to the teasing clouds and the lifeless sun and my faithless mistress, gravity.
i was sure i could not
admit to my faults, so, instead i said, with boundless gall that my dreams were too big to be housed in my heart that my plans were too grand &n
stolen.i've got no bones you're probably doing good without me i've got no pride there's nothing you can't do without me i've got concerns are you coming through without me i've got my doubts she probably doesn't know about me.stolen.
i stayed passed out on the 2nd story floor for days they say i just held on too tight on the f.m. airwaves, the news made its way to your ears and im thinking 'bout catching a flight.
guilty concious.you've got a way with words and i've got the drop-off curveguilty concious.
that says this should only last a few more days and i couldn't be more glad with everything you said and all the things i think, the guilt you made complete for what happened one day last winter, what happened so long ago.
and now you say its done and over, has been for a while but it's hidden in those glances you're throwing without style. some words you can't take back (the trail you left is a mile wide) some memories you can't erase (i doubt you'll ever forget me)
swim out past the breakers.beautiful andswim out past the breakers.
undisturbed your spirit clothed in ivory, gold, and alabaster i cry out black eyes stare endlessly preserved verse time, your power reaches through centuries and kings
whose
names have been forgotten, but you remembered in immortality, in eternity, in living death
25 Blow JobsPersonally, I don't like hearing the word "fuck" when I'm25 Blow Jobs
having sex.
We used to tell each other bedtime stories in the curtains when you were hung-over. You told me about how you got hit
by a bus, and how you got pinched between it and a brick
wall and how you felt yourself being scraped against it
until your skin peeled off and you died. I told you about how I got raped every night, by men and by women.
I cried every time we had sex.
You drank a bottle of Brandy on a school night, that I had confiscated from my alcoholic mother, for it
--
Stile's going after Hulk in 1A!
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Stile's going after Hulk in 1A!
guess who?
new nickname much?
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