thro the looking glass into your very past soul

connections and disconnection, feeling low for someone i don't know very well

i looked into the hazel and bared my soul my deepest darkest desires that come from longing

and wanting to be longed for

to be your mother teresa

the sex goddess you crave

the girl that stays in your bed just long enough to make you grow up

when i tell boys i want to be their muse it's a passing note in their thought

like i want them to make me pretty paper flowers or draw pictures of me

write songs about me and think about me when they're fucking their next girlfriend

unaware of my underlying need to be god of the world

in bed in the pastern in the clouds

i want you to breath me

needing me to filled every void in your body

till you don't need me anymore and i move on

it's not love and it's not a lost boy with a sink full of dirty dishes

it's just my next broken pieces that fit into me

people don't brake each other, they brake themselves against each other

why does my hate boil over for you when i can find something to love in everyone else

sleepy smitten blue eyes once for me

this could only happen to me?

let go and become something new

you decided on this, so stop thinking about the past rearranging the future

that's as long as he needed you

you knew it, and he didn't, you did him a favor

and your full of shit

planting already dead flowers over the graves of nazi soldiers

nothing can grow here

i'm broken in my little secret garden

i came with offers of candied roses and saffron jewels and draping virgins

leaving with shattered tears made from your cobalt blue eyes

broken promise rings

and overflowing orgy sex found in churches

how can everything i touch

mean to little?

so little

swap me for a milkmaid

my 'best friend' over and over again

the next gothy girl that wanders thro your bury eyes

i dream about you and the thought of you being with someone else

it cripples me

and waking up to reality is like a comfort knowing your not like everyone else

stained black and broken down pink

who will still need me? feed me? when i'm 64

everyone's mix tape is all mixed up in my itunes

jon, do you want to know how i knew you never really loved me?

guess

there's nothing like using someone else's thoughts and notes to express the way you feel

about someone else