(no subject)
Cherry Cough Drops.
it tastes a little like salvation (ft. lyrics from fort minor and eminem)
so hit.
first chance you get is radio fast forward motion, and your headphones blaring this is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill, fifteen percent concentrated power of will.
ironic? chyeah. you're scooted back against the wall of your closet, and that purple shirt you liked once but never wore again is brushing against your face. it's annoying. you think maybe you should get up and get out, but you don't. your cell phone charger is here - why don't you just plug it in and stay connected to the world through little digital soundbites and nothing else. maybe get a collect call or two. order out some pizza, 'm sorry. deliver it to the second story window, please? i don't want to see their faces today.
outrage would take form in the pattern of pretty little dents on those white walls. you wanted to cover them up with papers, make them pretty and alive and you know you wouldn't be able to sleep at night for all the ideas embedded in their glossy poster covers. you can't sleep staring at the fan for wondering if it'll fall on you one day.
you told him you didn't want to see angels anymore. he smiled a thought at you - and the words you made up keep repeating in your head. i'm an angel? me-arrogance, and yet. yet. the thought sticks. you told him you didn't want see angels anymore and he sent you your own wings in a care-package from heaven and a reminder from hell. don't forget now. scotch tape them back on.
you better lose yourself in the music, the moment. you're listening to a lot of rap. you like the beat, the anger, the way you can spit out the words and it tastes a little like salvation. look, you're mouthing along, if you had one shot. your stomach gurgles - nerves, or maybe you just haven't eaten in a while. you lost track of how long it's been since you locked yourself up in here. you've been too focused on listening for them banging on the door.
maybe this is silly. her mouth set in that lipstick-line against your cheek. the sunset and the feel of pale hands strong and hesistant-sure against yours. she smiled a little like cherry cough drops when you told her you wouldn't. you couldn't. she said she understood. denial tastes like stale cupcakes: not so sweet anymore.
you sent her a text. she'll get it in two minutes and she'll be reading it while you're crawling out of this closet.
tomorrow. tomorrow i'll tell them.
it tastes a little like salvation (ft. lyrics from fort minor and eminem)
so hit.
first chance you get is radio fast forward motion, and your headphones blaring this is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill, fifteen percent concentrated power of will.
ironic? chyeah. you're scooted back against the wall of your closet, and that purple shirt you liked once but never wore again is brushing against your face. it's annoying. you think maybe you should get up and get out, but you don't. your cell phone charger is here - why don't you just plug it in and stay connected to the world through little digital soundbites and nothing else. maybe get a collect call or two. order out some pizza, 'm sorry. deliver it to the second story window, please? i don't want to see their faces today.
outrage would take form in the pattern of pretty little dents on those white walls. you wanted to cover them up with papers, make them pretty and alive and you know you wouldn't be able to sleep at night for all the ideas embedded in their glossy poster covers. you can't sleep staring at the fan for wondering if it'll fall on you one day.
you told him you didn't want to see angels anymore. he smiled a thought at you - and the words you made up keep repeating in your head. i'm an angel? me-arrogance, and yet. yet. the thought sticks. you told him you didn't want see angels anymore and he sent you your own wings in a care-package from heaven and a reminder from hell. don't forget now. scotch tape them back on.
you better lose yourself in the music, the moment. you're listening to a lot of rap. you like the beat, the anger, the way you can spit out the words and it tastes a little like salvation. look, you're mouthing along, if you had one shot. your stomach gurgles - nerves, or maybe you just haven't eaten in a while. you lost track of how long it's been since you locked yourself up in here. you've been too focused on listening for them banging on the door.
maybe this is silly. her mouth set in that lipstick-line against your cheek. the sunset and the feel of pale hands strong and hesistant-sure against yours. she smiled a little like cherry cough drops when you told her you wouldn't. you couldn't. she said she understood. denial tastes like stale cupcakes: not so sweet anymore.
you sent her a text. she'll get it in two minutes and she'll be reading it while you're crawling out of this closet.
tomorrow. tomorrow i'll tell them.