Don’t put it past me to follow you anywhere. For now. Because this bottle cracks open when I think about it and this mouth only cracks open for this bottle.
Pushing all of the hate out of my whole world wouldn’t make you a saint.
There’s barely a living thing left in this body. Beat up and torn out from the way the thing started. Remember the kids at that party? Never saw another one after we left.
Is living in here living alive? You’re living sweetly satisfied. Pushing all of your love into my dull heart wouldn’t make you an angel. But I hope you wouldn’t. Yeah I hope you wouldn’t.
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