(no subject)
Boys will be boys, hiding in estrogen and wearing Aubergine dreams.
He stares at his reflection in the mirror. His complexion pure, his black hair long. He looks down at the collection of expensive make up on the table. He pulls his hair back into a ponytail and ties it with a black rubber band that used to belong to a girl he loved.
She ran away with someone else.
When I say shotgun, you say wedding.
He picks up the brush, runs it over the black eye shadow palette. He wipes away the single tear.
Boys will be boys, baby.
He stares at his reflection in the mirror. His complexion pure, his black hair long. He looks down at the collection of expensive make up on the table. He pulls his hair back into a ponytail and ties it with a black rubber band that used to belong to a girl he loved.
She ran away with someone else.
When I say shotgun, you say wedding.
He picks up the brush, runs it over the black eye shadow palette. He wipes away the single tear.
Boys will be boys, baby.