(no subject)
i'll project and write songs about you, your lack of presence, your pseudo ego, the way you'll end up with her, without me.
i come home to traces of cocaine and half drank martinis on the stained coffee table.
the ashtray is cracked and i'm sure we're gonna burn.
the pages of the book, acid free zephyr antique-laid.
the only reason i read it.
the only reason i'll read it aloud to you and make you pretend to care. pretend to believe.
accelerated aging. long lingering youth.
disjointed and spurious notes on bedroom walls, rip off's of geniuses and fakers, of liars and thieves and gods and friends and their enemies.
the cliche. the ink that signifies the end.
i come home to traces of cocaine and half drank martinis on the stained coffee table.
the ashtray is cracked and i'm sure we're gonna burn.
the pages of the book, acid free zephyr antique-laid.
the only reason i read it.
the only reason i'll read it aloud to you and make you pretend to care. pretend to believe.
accelerated aging. long lingering youth.
disjointed and spurious notes on bedroom walls, rip off's of geniuses and fakers, of liars and thieves and gods and friends and their enemies.
the cliche. the ink that signifies the end.