something lovely.

i like your voice, i wish you weren't such a prick

i'm already wondering if i've worn out our welcome

thank god for a distraction from D tho

the strangest people make me happy

i'm right to have thought that pretty fagot boys don't make for good lovers

i'm over thinking it already as my hands grow pink and crack

and no one ever knows who i'm talking about, or what for that matter

i wrote you a poem the other day, in our secret hiding place

that all the teenagers know about

i can smell you

are we both to sleepy to see each other tonight?

when does something go from being excited and new

to old habit

i love when people sing with themselves

i'm so cold and lazy, wishing to just curl up inside my darkness

and dream