(no subject)
this is my letter to you, what i say but cannot speak. here is my plan to prevent heartache, a precursory censoring of thoughts already known to be trouble. ready.set.go and i'm off with this trail of words i'm bound to regret...on nights where it's ok to count stars and have rooftop cigarettes, during car rides that cause me to sing songs forbidding love, where we laugh watching the angels escape through rolled-down windows, every time it makes sense for me to accept that this is my life, when it's monday and my night is automatically booked, as i'm writing this run-on sentence [and yes i've used white-out], i realize that i am lucky, i am worth it, and this is partly your fault. so damn you for starting such a chain of events because i don't know where it's taking me. consider this a warning of affections like a caution sign in prose, continue at your own risk. of course you know i fight back, what you don't know is this painting's foundation, which letters paired up to solidify my emotions. but i give a big fuck you to all of this, i spit on this cowardice and embace the way we live.
damn.
i tell myself it's ok that it doesn't make sense - your paint covered body will make up for this unsightly mess.
damn.
i tell myself it's ok that it doesn't make sense - your paint covered body will make up for this unsightly mess.