I want to write.
but something always holds me back
perhaps I don't have the curve of your neck memorized perfectly...
it's always something like that.
I need my obsession for my creation. I need the knowledge I really shouldn't have.isn't it funny how we have all these tools at our disposal? and we feel an expansion of lungs.
I don't need love. It's a waste of my time.
But I'm jealous of those who can throw down and hook up
Not waste their time daydreaming of dogs and houses and tree lined streets.
Antithesis. Clothes slipped on just to be tossed off.
Too sheer, doesn't cling to the figure enough
Yet you are who you are and I am jealous of this.
I am more lines than I ever knew possible, and at the time I could never want them.