Tuesday, December 4, 2007

These burns are mild, baby, not third degree. Don't cry for me.

xroyalle (2:21:53 AM): ......
xroyalle (2:21:54 AM): <3
xroyalle (2:22:06 AM): I've been thinking of you almost constantly, if that means anything at all.
xroyalle (2:22:21 AM): Lots of random stuff makes me think about you.
Riyukko (2:22:09 AM): Yeah. Same.
xroyalle (2:22:36 AM): I'm sorry too, though.
Riyukko (2:22:19 AM): <3
xroyalle (2:22:41 AM): <3
Riyukko (2:22:24 AM): It's okay.
xroyalle (2:22:49 AM): Yeah, same.
xroyalle (2:23:02 AM): ...And now I'm grinning like an idiot for no fucking reason.
xroyalle (2:23:09 AM): I think I might be insane.
Riyukko (2:23:01 AM): Haha I've been crying for like three hours and now I'm laughing.
Riyukko (2:23:05 AM): I think we're both insane.
xroyalle (2:23:39 AM): We probably are, but that's okay, at least we're insane together, right?
See caption to picture 2B.

I've got the red carpet blues, baby.
I type fast and think faster.
But I'm pretty sure my heart moves the fastest when you're around.

I think sometimes I worry more than I probably should.
Think more than I probably should.
Dream more than I probably should.
Laugh more than I probably should.
And sleep less than I know I should.

Sick of all the genius and beauty in the world.
Sick of being too afraid.
And not cautious enough.
See title.

A poem I wrote for everyone and no one in particular with a few people in mind:
Nevermind it sucked anyway so I cut it out.
But here's something else.

I'll smile and you'll laugh.
Rest my chin on your shoulder, play your guitar.
I'll trip and you'll stop, stare hard at the clock.
Pull you down and lace our fingers.
You place kisses all over my neck.
Sticky sugar, cologne lingers.
But I'm just stalling, and I'm just stalling.
Trace these patterns all over my hips.
Never never try, never never win.
Trace these colors on bruised and cracked lips.
I'll pull you down, I'll pull you down.
So, we're back at your place.
And you're kicking off your shoes.
I'm blushing at your clues.
And you're hinting at this, too.
Like fire in your eyes and your heart and your soul.
And I'll rip it right out of you.
Rip it right out.
And you can trace these patterns all over my hips.
Never never try, never never win.
Trace these colors on bruised and cracked lips.
I'll pull you down, I'll pull you down.

I could totally be a song writer if I put some effort into it.
At least... I'll tell myself that.
But these burns are still mild, and the bruises will heal.
The stitches are sewn so the bloodflow is still.
Just wait until morning, save up all your rest.
'Cause friends are GOLDEN.
And I mean this with my last breath.

Xoxo.
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