Sometimes I just don't feel like using my words or my brain because sometimes it all just comes out the same way as it did yesterday and sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who knows what I mean.
Do you know what I mean?
Sometimes I don't want to write I just want to look at pictures of Anita Pallenberg in 1968 and study the angular sharpness of her face and wear more fur smoke more cigarettes draw my eyes black and heavy and wake up at whatever hours I want.
Sometimes I just want to be horrible and not care and not bite my hands, not hate my arms every time I pass by a mirror.
Sometimes I don't want to read about hope or love or see any more long-legged girls in beautiful outfits that I could never fit into or afford.
Sometimes I want no one inside my head but him and I take back everything I've done and...just, sometimes, oh.
Oh. Suck it back, stamp it out, oh.
Do you know what I mean?
Sometimes I don't want to write I just want to look at pictures of Anita Pallenberg in 1968 and study the angular sharpness of her face and wear more fur smoke more cigarettes draw my eyes black and heavy and wake up at whatever hours I want.
Sometimes I just want to be horrible and not care and not bite my hands, not hate my arms every time I pass by a mirror.
Sometimes I don't want to read about hope or love or see any more long-legged girls in beautiful outfits that I could never fit into or afford.
Sometimes I want no one inside my head but him and I take back everything I've done and...just, sometimes, oh.
Oh. Suck it back, stamp it out, oh.
I'm sorry. I feel the exact same way...parallel hearts and blogs. So sad.
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