i think god hates me.
everytime i step into the street i half expect a thunderbolt to come tearing through the sky and straight into my sorry excuse for a heart.
hoping for and waiting for are exactly the same things.
to the two people who are doing god's job for me:
J. why? just when i'd got my pretty little head to listen to my not so pretty little heart, you just waltz back into my life.
and you're so much better than last time. "you don't know how mesmerizing you are, do you?" sorry, kid. this girl wasn't built for broadway. applause isn't my forte.
and somehow i convinced myself that i'd left you alone with your own finale. apparently we've just stepped straight into the encore performance.
and i think i'm playing the trick on myself, because i'm torn.
but then there's you, S. there's always fucking you. just like me; always just left of right here.
we're the photo's on the back of milk cartons that everyone notices but never reads. our tongues are foreign except when we speak.
how does it feel to be someone's everything completely?
yet we both know only bad things can come of this. you and i, we destroy everything that's beautiful, just to say we could.
i don't want to be my own worst enemy anymore.
the world is at a crossroads.
which way to turn, which way, which way.
