(no subject)
knees are weak, and i dream of sleep.slow steady thumping, something like slow motion.that unhealthy death notion, maybe i should hate you for this.the truth is its 3 am and im right here again, but im a wishful thinker, and streetlights never seemed so comforting.chapped lips and tear stained face, i look a mess but thats my place.i didnt want to bring it up, mediocrity has become my best friend.when breathing ceases, will you still kiss the creases in my eyelids? i would wait for you...