little something somethings
we are so cliche, we lack the organs yet wear body armor all day
there is no time for optimism she claims as the bullets shadder through the half empty glass
the stars and moon have sided with our foes, helping to illuminate our every footstep, revealing the unsteadiness in our walk
you can't call a person a backstabber if they enter a knifefight with loaded pistols right?
now the only thing that stands between us is the crooked rip in our photograph
and typical me to not take a hint and still fall madly in love with the back of your head
and the pressure of my kiss removes the stitches from your lips, that keep your tongue enclosed and tied
everything you ever stood for,
vanished somewhere inside of your promises and spilled out of your veins and created a door,
that blocked the bullets tracking down my scanning eyes,
my eyes which hide behind a convincing disguise,
that i routinely wear when your best friend coincidently dies,
ive doubted bulletproof glass and open heart surgery until i emptied my rounds into your stitched together chest and all you did was smile and tap your foot to the beat of your heart
i guess you were just too busy living in complete satisfaction. i remain enclosed in other peoples hands that couldn't satisfy my brittle body even if they had extracted the front layers of your palms and pasted them to theirs. i miss the steadiness that you used to give me, rather in stance or grip. lurking aimlessly are my securities, seeking sense and overall contentness.
i tried to dismantle the parts of my heart that stored feelings for you but i ended up empty chested and caught red handed squeezing out every painful memory of you ive kept dormant in my heart
there you go. putting yourself "out their" again. exploiting your good sides and smearing the other with flames and gasoline. lay a cross in your ashes because the old you has relinquished to dust. there you go, lending your hands to the empty handed then slicing their wrists. wishing upon stars for your best friends to drop then not even shedding a tear full of remourse when their blood leaves trails across the pavement such as the stars left trails of dreams in the somber faced sky.
this is you being smart playing tag with my heart your arms a knife your hands the blade my chest left open so lets trade my bleeding heart for all your wits tag tag tag you're it
why do you always turn your fucking back? to rub in the fact that your spine is free of the handles of knives? to show off the undecorated smoothness in your skin? fingerprints of all my friends have been dusted off the burdens stuck in mine but in the end we all die with our backs to the ground anyways, so im convinced i have nothing to hide.
there is no time for optimism she claims as the bullets shadder through the half empty glass
the stars and moon have sided with our foes, helping to illuminate our every footstep, revealing the unsteadiness in our walk
you can't call a person a backstabber if they enter a knifefight with loaded pistols right?
now the only thing that stands between us is the crooked rip in our photograph
and typical me to not take a hint and still fall madly in love with the back of your head
and the pressure of my kiss removes the stitches from your lips, that keep your tongue enclosed and tied
everything you ever stood for,
vanished somewhere inside of your promises and spilled out of your veins and created a door,
that blocked the bullets tracking down my scanning eyes,
my eyes which hide behind a convincing disguise,
that i routinely wear when your best friend coincidently dies,
ive doubted bulletproof glass and open heart surgery until i emptied my rounds into your stitched together chest and all you did was smile and tap your foot to the beat of your heart
i guess you were just too busy living in complete satisfaction. i remain enclosed in other peoples hands that couldn't satisfy my brittle body even if they had extracted the front layers of your palms and pasted them to theirs. i miss the steadiness that you used to give me, rather in stance or grip. lurking aimlessly are my securities, seeking sense and overall contentness.
i tried to dismantle the parts of my heart that stored feelings for you but i ended up empty chested and caught red handed squeezing out every painful memory of you ive kept dormant in my heart
there you go. putting yourself "out their" again. exploiting your good sides and smearing the other with flames and gasoline. lay a cross in your ashes because the old you has relinquished to dust. there you go, lending your hands to the empty handed then slicing their wrists. wishing upon stars for your best friends to drop then not even shedding a tear full of remourse when their blood leaves trails across the pavement such as the stars left trails of dreams in the somber faced sky.
this is you being smart playing tag with my heart your arms a knife your hands the blade my chest left open so lets trade my bleeding heart for all your wits tag tag tag you're it
why do you always turn your fucking back? to rub in the fact that your spine is free of the handles of knives? to show off the undecorated smoothness in your skin? fingerprints of all my friends have been dusted off the burdens stuck in mine but in the end we all die with our backs to the ground anyways, so im convinced i have nothing to hide.