Hey, so I’m just basing this on Ambien and times I guess I‘d gone a lotta overboard as I was scribble-crying letters to insist that I'd been the boy--um-- "friend", who would mitigate that risk that you’d not ever know a real man’s love, cuz typically they don’t love shit.
Veilance boards surround the room and if I draw these curtains I’d reveal myself with a desire to obscure you.
And you would go and blame this on "The Realization"? Nah, you’re full of it cuz that was back in '07 girl, and how would you know what year it was? Is this another sloppy lie that—what? oh, i’m sorry, “a fabrication” about how when I went to recover those inches—the ones you gave me with your smiles—and I don’t care if you retrace my steps, but baby, it’s already been miles.
So did you not notice my hand up? Or did you just not notice your skirt?
You put a quarter-million dollars on my credit card, but that doesn’t make me think you are a jerk. And you call me crazy!
You got me fired up, when before I didn’t give a fuck...
Does this mean I’m back? (To being what?)
