The SplitI dressed in white, you wore black Found myself down on my back Lips parallel but un-kissed Fingers tightened into fistsThe Split
Withdraw symptoms far from us I'm not feeling numb enough I'll stitch up the heart I broke Recall your eyes when I first spoke
Swapped our stories yours for mine We'll talk until the stars, they shine Kill your hands, you know the deal This is just the way we heal
Me, You
I can't ever live with either Me, You I don't want to die forever
I know your face like the back of my hand Staring at eyes I
room ITwo StationsI’ll never be fluent in reading the foreign language on the screen but apparently, the Casio appreciates the fact that I’m trying.Two Stations
My algebra spells pretty words
and is never in alphabetical order; yours has a value, or so you tell me.
Integration signs are etched on my skin where the compass hit my arm instead of the paper.
My blade is graduated with marks at every 10 millimetres.
Pigeon PieThe breeze is more accustomed toPigeon Pie
engine roar than birdsong. The cracked pigeon wing, feathered in panpipe fashion, seems unnatural in the context of concrete. The crested road can’t command a “Your Majesty” any more than the trees can open fire on
monkey-children that grope them
without asking permission first.
merci pour le 'watch'
ou le regarde.
thanks
je ne parle pas très bien en francais!! hehe. you can speak English to, right?
and thanks for the fave
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On peut rire de tout mais pas avec tout le monde...
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On peut rire de tout mais pas avec tout le monde...
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