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Love lives. and dies. as fast as butterflies.

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Death Fast Fly Live Love

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She’s like turning on the radio and hearing a brand new song.
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She wanted love. So I fed her, inch by inch.
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Fed Herself Love Myself Sex
Late nights. Poetry. Cigarettes. and a wounded heart, trying to forget you.
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Forget Heart Night Poetry Try Wound Yourself
I gave her address to my soul. Ans she fucked the mailman.
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Address Herself Mail Man Soul
Love lives. and dies. as fast as butterflies.
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Death Fast Fly Live Love
True love is letting her know that her ass really does look fat in those jeans.
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This heart. It’s broke. I don’t want it anymore.
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She’s like a jar of butterflies, waiting to be opened.
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Butterfly Herself Open Wait

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