just once i’d like to kiss a nice boy,one who still smiles and looks at stars.but i keep attracting those guys with guitars,
assault charges and drumstickswho push cigarettes and needles into their skin. they like to burn
but I guess so do i.
reach me the razor, babymy heart’s racingmaybe i could sort it outover camomile and poetry?
this beading bloodsays only two things:i’m sorryand i’m hurting