Apr 4, 2014
toilet seat romance
Here’s to toilet seat Intimacy, where your entirety is Built on binging nights and purging Hours. Here’s to the fat and Wasted, bulimic phases with
Drinks drank on the basis of Loneliness. You’re the Soul-dead, and honey, you swear You’ve made your own hell But electric nerves are razors
Done on you; you’ve swallowed Pills, picked scabs - watched the night Sky with an ending on your mind and You went
huh what a waste
because you’re an almost But almost is dirt-cheap amidst the Absolutes; so here’s to Raw eyes, red wine, counting until Time isn’t enough to make you
Sleep or stay. You used to Want to be saved but Now you’ll just go up in flames.
Here’s to making them watch.