Worrying my pretty little head.
Dear Hemingway,
You can't think anymore tonight, because the pretty girl from downstairs, got you tipsy off expensive red wine.
I'm sure it matches the bing cherry red of her hair.
I walk in with a cocked smirk, and a satirical laugh in my heart.
Yeah, you loved something.
I say it's not me.
You say yes.
But I believe you've just got a buzzword on the brain.
I suppose you won't forget.
My mediocrity or that one drunken night or maybe the way I taste.
I don't remember most of the days, they are a smiley haze of yesterday, that I don't miss.
I have a numbness for you. The kind that when you feel something you know it's there, you just don't know what it is.
There is now a lump in my throat, and I'm having trouble locating the source.
I've been outsourced.
But it's only fair, because I never used you as a source. But I thought I was being helpful.
I think you like the idea of being famous for gibberish, and I like the idea for accomplishing everything and being unknown.
We couldn't understand everything. Not something so different.
You don't want to talk about it, because I never believed a word you said.
Fair enough.
You say, don't be a girl.
I try.
But I'm a conniving bitch. Spiteful, hateful, seductress that would like to forget.
But I'm a kindhearted, lovely girl. Graceful, considerate, wonderful, super-girl that would like to forget.
I'm only a small mortal object.
You can be immortal as long as you want. But I'm still the one with the smirk.
xoxo,
-Post-
You can't think anymore tonight, because the pretty girl from downstairs, got you tipsy off expensive red wine.
I'm sure it matches the bing cherry red of her hair.
I walk in with a cocked smirk, and a satirical laugh in my heart.
Yeah, you loved something.
I say it's not me.
You say yes.
But I believe you've just got a buzzword on the brain.
I suppose you won't forget.
My mediocrity or that one drunken night or maybe the way I taste.
I don't remember most of the days, they are a smiley haze of yesterday, that I don't miss.
I have a numbness for you. The kind that when you feel something you know it's there, you just don't know what it is.
There is now a lump in my throat, and I'm having trouble locating the source.
I've been outsourced.
But it's only fair, because I never used you as a source. But I thought I was being helpful.
I think you like the idea of being famous for gibberish, and I like the idea for accomplishing everything and being unknown.
We couldn't understand everything. Not something so different.
You don't want to talk about it, because I never believed a word you said.
Fair enough.
You say, don't be a girl.
I try.
But I'm a conniving bitch. Spiteful, hateful, seductress that would like to forget.
But I'm a kindhearted, lovely girl. Graceful, considerate, wonderful, super-girl that would like to forget.
I'm only a small mortal object.
You can be immortal as long as you want. But I'm still the one with the smirk.
xoxo,
-Post-