|Even I like it.
||[Aug. 24th, 2006|10:18 pm]
The Biteage Kid
|||||"Opium" - Marcy Playground||]|
Beds Are Made For Sleeping.
I drifted into the summer months with lips and limbs wide open, and I assumed that both our hearts were made of glass. However, I found that mine was iron that had changed to rust, and yours was stone that eroded to reveal pink flesh underneath. I promise you that you do not care about me half as much as you've led yourself to believe, and you only desire my affections because I'm holding them under lock and key.
Actions don't always speak louder than words and a kiss is a kiss, no matter how repulsive of a light it places me in.
I can fill these sheets with someone who possesses twice your skill. Isn't that the point?
I want both my pillows back. This place of rest is, instead, exhausting me. When the hour of guilt passes, I find myself grateful for the empty place next to me. I embrace the absence of substance under these blankets. I am thankful for the fact that my hollow body is mine again.
Beds are made for sleeping, and I'm hoping that slumber will tear the rest of the shame from my skin.