With all your words of glass, I felt the wedding dress rip If I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of seeing me cry why should I want to give you the rest of my life?
You were the best and worst nights of my life fucking while the flames lick us at least you’re a distraction from my spiritual death. You’re a god damn angel in a crack den.
You were poetry in a dark hallway whispering to know me in a psychotic way the way your neck tattoos straddle my throat I’m envious of every girl you’ve ever known.
It’s those Saturday mornings laughing underneath the sheets its a glimpse of everything I dreamed that makes me feel hope for us. Saturdays could be our thing.
