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Stuck on yourself, stuck on repeat
i stayed in bed for hours and hours. what was the point of getting out of bed now or ever? i had a dream about you that night. somebody fucking vomited on the sidewalk. i woke up feeling sick (you know how that makes me feel) but the first thing i thought of was you.
and why shouldn’t i think about it? you’re telling me to “chill out?” how many years is it going to take for you to actually grow up? could you even spell “guilt?”
how far do i have to move to get all the way away from you? an arm around your shoulder from someone new, the center of your world but just until you’re through. then get another line tattooed on your back, dye your shit hair back to black, and tell yourself you’re so independent.
i’m sure he’s super cool, babes. i bet he listens to super cool music. not too weird, mostly guitar-based indie or blues and you find that kind of intriguing and maybe even sort of relaxing.
knit me the sweater so i can shove it down my throat. gasoline shower, keep my eyes open. nothing’s impossible, you’ve made it so clear.
