Your lipstick presses upon perfection that pours so candidly. This sation conflagration seems to interject and then conceive this tactic fascination that's border lining offensive when received. It's shameful in its sature of my ideological connecting with a preordained confession of longevity. You resonate inside this hall and covertly acquire my latent passions that seem vain in their prosperity. We'll never be a picket fence or anything worth fighting for. Had we but world enough and time?
This apprehension leaves us sordid revisions of our childhood roadmap. We constantly underestimate our sentence to make it seem like the incarceration isn't somthing more.
Your poision is tasting of all the things you'll never need and you use it on everyone.
And on this street your body lays. His lips will pierce your neck and as your fngers grasp his faux-black hair, you give yourself away. But he doesn't love you. And for now thats fine because you're dying to feel cheap. And so you'd give, you'd give You'd give once more until there's nothing left. Come feel safe within my arms.
So part your lips. And part your legs. No! This is atrophy embodied.
Nightly success but you left your heart at the door. Change your face like a dress, but you left your heart at the door.
Had we but world enough and time? This is complacency.