supermagictree

goes out late and stays out late. i love him because he has dirty shoes and a clean conscience, i love him, because late nights, bunk-beds and gunpowder/rocks. i like him best when he's got his hands in his pockets and i like myself best when i've got matching bracelets on my wrists and rings on my fingers. you're still a little boy who get tired before you can go to far and is scared of pretty girls

She's been doing this to you for twenty-four years "Dance," and " 'cause you got kerosene feet and a little waist". And I hate to say it but you do. And I hate to say it but your mouth is too small for your nicotine tongue, that's why you never use it.

you are far too near to near too far and I feel myself retreating. everyone loves a bastard like you. oh yes oh god they do. you are more like a piece of the sky refusing to light up and less like God or someone deserving. the rain is too much, she bears an uncanny resemblance to you. overwhelmingly so. i wonder what it is you are made of. it's not strong, it's not soft. i suppose you aren't so different so special like you make yourself out to be. the endlessness of you is no different from the beginning of you or the lies of you. i ought to know all of you, but I do not.