Exit Music (For A Film)
It makes you think nickel cold. I'm working a lot. I'm living, I suppose. Yeah. I am. But you think, "Hey, I'm living the wonderful life!" I'm retreating in myself...It's not good, but it makes you curl when you're introverted. It makes you curl South, I think. The arrow points down, inward.
I've gotten closure. It's sad on the chest when it happens, but you think, "God, this gives you clarity." I haven't felt like something's been torn anyway now. I am still into the cliches. I don't call myself a romantic, I'm not good enough for that, but I'd call myself fantastico.
Maybe I don't hate mankind. If I do or don't, I'm not an angry person either way. That's wayward. But no matter what, I know that I don't keep people close to me at heart for very long. I think I'm one of those people impossible to endure. It's love or hate at first sight, but it's not love, it's an infautation. Blame that on my oh so ever sardonic charm. It must be the hands. Too.
Sex in Minor C Interlude. Though. I had sex to a song called Dolphin. Dolphin Eyes something, I can't remember. I'll never think of that song the same again; it's kind of a goofy song. It rocks you the fuck out and turns your skin inside out. You think, "Fuck." But take a shot at me.
I passed a girl in the parking lot yesterday. She had a feminine smell. She was only fifteen or so, but she wore a puffy skirt, and all I wanted to do was leave my handprints all over them. Call me a sensitive.
Amazing.
I've gotten closure. It's sad on the chest when it happens, but you think, "God, this gives you clarity." I haven't felt like something's been torn anyway now. I am still into the cliches. I don't call myself a romantic, I'm not good enough for that, but I'd call myself fantastico.
Maybe I don't hate mankind. If I do or don't, I'm not an angry person either way. That's wayward. But no matter what, I know that I don't keep people close to me at heart for very long. I think I'm one of those people impossible to endure. It's love or hate at first sight, but it's not love, it's an infautation. Blame that on my oh so ever sardonic charm. It must be the hands. Too.
Sex in Minor C Interlude. Though. I had sex to a song called Dolphin. Dolphin Eyes something, I can't remember. I'll never think of that song the same again; it's kind of a goofy song. It rocks you the fuck out and turns your skin inside out. You think, "Fuck." But take a shot at me.
I passed a girl in the parking lot yesterday. She had a feminine smell. She was only fifteen or so, but she wore a puffy skirt, and all I wanted to do was leave my handprints all over them. Call me a sensitive.
Amazing.