i.o.u.
deny me, just one more time, time enough to fuel the grease on the wheel of contruction, for the machine of mass destruction, tick-tocking in a countdown. my wrist is discolored, at the bone, and sprinkled points of collision. i can't make a decision. but my mind pushed so hard foward, insisting that we would make good out of this one, and it proved right, but it was cut short, cause time runs out fast, and i am in shock of the last decade. i predicted that it would so...
"she might not be talking to me today, but she will be tomorrow..."
swipe some worthless plastic down my middle, and stand waiting for something to come out of me, while she is plastered and can't look in the mirror, because she knows it wont lie you see. and the truth is unbearable, and and what we are looking for simply wont come, because it isn't there. it is never gonna be, and never gonna happen, and whatever was, just has been, and has no place, in this date and time. must discard these scars, like the ones from you and your secrets.
and this is not worth it.
"she might not be talking to me today, but she will be tomorrow..."
swipe some worthless plastic down my middle, and stand waiting for something to come out of me, while she is plastered and can't look in the mirror, because she knows it wont lie you see. and the truth is unbearable, and and what we are looking for simply wont come, because it isn't there. it is never gonna be, and never gonna happen, and whatever was, just has been, and has no place, in this date and time. must discard these scars, like the ones from you and your secrets.
and this is not worth it.