Keep the noise low, she doesn't wanna blow it.
Shaking head to toe while your left hand does "the show me around."
Quickens your heartbeat, it beats me straight into the ground.
You don't recover from a night like this, a victim still lying in bed completely motionless.
A hand moves in the dark to a zipper, hear a girl bracing tight against sheets barely whisper,
"This is so messed up."
He keeps his hands low, he doesn't wanna blow it.
He's wet from head to toe and his eyes give her the up and the down.
Her stomach turns and she thinks of throwing up.
He hits the lights, this doesn't seem quite fair.
Despite everything she learned from her friends, she doesn't feel so prepared.
He's breathing quiet and smooth, she's gasping for air.
"This is the first and last time," she says.
He fakes a smile and presses his hips into hers.
She keeps her hands pinned down at her sides.
She's holding back from telling him exactly what it really feels like.
She is the lamb, he is the slaughter.
He's moving way too fast, and all she wanted was to hold him.
So much more than he could ever give - a life free of lies and a meaningful relationship.
She keeps her hands pinned down at her sides.
She waits for it to end and for the aching in her gut to subside.
That is my story exactly. Details aside, I couldn't word it better.
I'm through acting like this feels right.
Not as eloquent as I may have imagined,
but it will get the job done (and you're done).
January 2nd.
It was a disappointing day.
You have no idea what love's all about.
You're pushy.
But I love the way you tell me I'm cute.
The way you say I'm not a fatty and I'm not a mess.
Even though I'm both.
I'm more of a mess than you know and unfortunately there isn't room for the both of us in my head.
Or in my bed.
I was probably disappointing.
But no more than you were.
There's a first time for everything, you always hear that.
But there's a last time for everything, too.
