and it's killing me.
inspiration seems to be avoiding me lately. just as you sit by his apartment, praying and waiting for him to come out and say he's sorry, say he loves you after all, kisses you and makes it up to you in the most physical of ways...but you know that it will never happen.
all i ever see is the "never can's" and the "not again's" in the back of my mind, waiting for an appropriate time to cut into my thoughts and ask "can i have this dance?"
Headaches and bad luck leave me awake and heartstruck.
your tongue is numb from all the frostbitten words that roll off your tongue and sting in the most delicate of ways, but the only way that you could ever leave a lasting scar is by never speaking to me again.
cross my heart and hope to die [in your arms].
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