(no subject)
when the thoughts hit you
that you just want to stop
this twirling endless decent
into the pool of your own self-pity...
think about the ways you made me cry
in those by-gone years,
and remember to try and forget.
the headlights are fading, and its gone now,
but not until we have
that final moment with our heads against the dash
and our tears flowing into one another
into a swirling endless pool of doubt and anger.
take a step back from yourself
and just drive...
put down that glass and all of those irrational mournful glances
and shut the fuck up.
no more lofty ideals for you.
just emotion and spit and blood and fake tears.
fake for the mere fact that i can't feel them
or touch them
without that pang of jealousy which frequents
our conversations.
and so i expound on dog-legged days
that no longer exist and hair
that's grown out and long.
i refuse to be a heartless bitch.
... thank you miss parker.