. Joined 7 years ago.
“she was desperate and she was choosey
at the same time and, in a way, beautiful, but she didn't have quite enough going for her to become what she imagined herself to be.” ~ charles bukowski
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tell me, why is the pain of birth lighter borne than the pain of death? i ain't saying that i loved you first, but i loved you best.
do you know the proper way to ask for a cigarette? i'm asking before winter comes; stay here with me til morning, with the three-man orchestra playing.
you’re on your own in a world you’ve grown; few more years to go, don’t let the hurdle fall; so be the girl you loved.
you talk far too much for someone so unkind; i will wipe the salt off of my skin and i'll admit that i got it wrong, and there is grey between the lines.
sometimes i wake up in the morning to red, blue, and yellow skies, it's so crazy i could drink it like tequila sunrise; put on that hotel california, dance around like i'm insane; i feel free when i see no one and nobody knows my name.
every word that comes from your mouth is just another sign for me to let it go, but it takes so long, and i'm not so strong, and i miss your face every day.
like you, i've been around the world, seen a million girls, i've seen bangkok; black, blue, red, wise, evil, very nice.
in time you'll learn to say sorry and i will play tender with you; in time your hands on my body will resonate through me, like they did before.
did you get enough love, my little dove, why do you cry? and i'm sorry i left, but it was for the best, though it never felt right; my little versailles.
i was raging, it was late, in the world my demons cultivate; i felt the strangest emotion but it wasn't hate, for once; yes i'm changing, yes i'm gone, yes i'm older, yes i'm moving on.
i'm adaptable and i like my role, i'm getting better and better and i have a new goal, i'm changing my ways where money applies; this is not a love song.
sometimes i wait for the cold wind to blow, as i struggle with myself right now as i let the darkness in; but i don't mind chasing you through the back ways for the keys, it evaporates and fades like a grand parade.
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands; the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.
and all the while i'll know we're f*cked, and not getting unf*cked soon; when we get home we're bigger strangers than we've ever been before, you sit in front of snowy television, suitcase on the floor.
do you have a lighter? am i dancing sexy yet? are you watching me cause i move alone? look a little harder; everything i hold is wet and i've never tasted glass and patron.
pretend you're 18, maybe when you're grown this will all have been a dream; the bathroom mirror, the stucco walls, the devil waiting in the hall, the pretty wind and quiet snow, paperclips all in a row.
the future can't be real, i barely know how long a moment is, unless we're naked getting high on the mattress, while the global market crashes and death fills the streets with garden variety oblivious.
rose is my colour and white, pretty mouth and green my eyes; i see men come and go, but there'll be one who will collect my soul.
and i was on the island and you were there too, but somehow through the storm i couldn’t get to you.
i'm a philosopher, i try to put it all behind me; i'm a philosopher, i gotta try to keep it down.
hold my hand, i am afraid; please pray for me when i am away.
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