threefeetdeep
08/05/04, 09:54 AM
A second shot at some writing.
So this is what it feels like to be mashed and mangled with bloody limbs and an aching heart these coronary tremors pop my veins at the seams girl you’ve… (torn me apart). If there’re four things I would say to you I couldn’t get past the first because baby you know that my tongue is the worst (in these situations) I’m perpetually flawed. With frostbitten toes out in the snow my breath fogs up the glass and I catch a glimpse of that shine in your eye and if one thing could kill me… what I’d give to die side by side. Excuse my punch-drunk arguments words dripping from my lip and my hand on your hip if Jesus were man he couldn’t resist “he’d cry like a newborn”. It’s been (one week) since I’ve not been fake since I’ve been me since my knees were weak like… I feel (…felt) so fucking free. Three hundred and sixty four days of death and black and knives stiff in my back (one year of fear) for one single day just staring at your bottom lip while my hands quiver through your hair and around the back of your ear. These bites on my neck didn’t form overnight baby. The blood drained down my chest to be closer to you wherever you are you’ll always be the biggest vessel inside my (brokenbruisedbatteredbeaten) heart I’m still so fucking breathless.
So this is what it feels like to be mashed and mangled with bloody limbs and an aching heart these coronary tremors pop my veins at the seams girl you’ve… (torn me apart). If there’re four things I would say to you I couldn’t get past the first because baby you know that my tongue is the worst (in these situations) I’m perpetually flawed. With frostbitten toes out in the snow my breath fogs up the glass and I catch a glimpse of that shine in your eye and if one thing could kill me… what I’d give to die side by side. Excuse my punch-drunk arguments words dripping from my lip and my hand on your hip if Jesus were man he couldn’t resist “he’d cry like a newborn”. It’s been (one week) since I’ve not been fake since I’ve been me since my knees were weak like… I feel (…felt) so fucking free. Three hundred and sixty four days of death and black and knives stiff in my back (one year of fear) for one single day just staring at your bottom lip while my hands quiver through your hair and around the back of your ear. These bites on my neck didn’t form overnight baby. The blood drained down my chest to be closer to you wherever you are you’ll always be the biggest vessel inside my (brokenbruisedbatteredbeaten) heart I’m still so fucking breathless.