keep thinking that in another life i’d get to be a roughed up boy with split knuckles who gets to cope without hoping it is beautiful. keeping thinking i could be the girl that smells like a warm fire on the train, the one you fall in love with for a split second before i’m gone. keep thinking i could be the sunshine, or the moon, or both, or maybe a black hole. been wishing to get scraped up on the pavement and wear my hair messy, and drink ‘til i hit rock bottom so hard i chip my teeth and make myself learn how to sing again. keep forgetting it’s neither here or there, it’s now. so i’ll drink if i want until i remember how to feel alive, i’ll get roughed up and wear my cheap perfume that smells like rubbing alcohol at first, and i’ll be the sun and the moon and the birds singing in june, because there is literally no other life, it’s just this one. fucker.
keep thinking “somewhere in another life” like this isn’t the only one i get. fucker.