not about love
my plan of attack is sleeping with it's thumb in it's mouth. i wrote you letters in my head last night but you never wrote back, so they just sat there, like a stuffed mailbox owned by a woman who died a month ago but no one knows yet. well here we are again, the train stations in my dreams, always. i have heard that you cannot dream of someone's face you have never seen before but this worries me because then who are all these monsters? in my reality, who are they? i want to be in love & i want to die. you tell me the difference. the beginning and when it gets fast, the tears feel like little plants that are growing out of water my hands are shaking like the leaves on them and maybe that's all i am , this is all a lie, don't believe a word of it, you never trust a writer, in love with words, unrequited, i beg, i swallow, i breathe, the song is giving birth to me, again, i find.
at 11:51 AM