my face is made-up.
yours in an autobiography.
slipping on a little white lie and high heals.
ready for a night on the town?
sick of all the speculation in this gentleman's charade.
i woke up without your breath on the back of my neck, and now i feel homesick for places i've never been.
i was too afraid to say "i love you" so i wrote it down for you to read.
then i changed my mind.
we go for quantity, not quality.
i spend nights lying next to you, thinking how to get out of the room without the floorboards creaking you awake.
grace glides on blistered feet.
is this everything you ever wanted?
sometimes i wonder...
