Post by lovelyanne on Mar 27, 2015 3:38:26 GMT -5
I can’t come to your show
Oh, I just don’t feel well.
It’s like a stomachache every time my friends ask about love.
Not that I’m blaming you
It’s not you
It’s me.
It’s how I scream someone else’s name to convince myself that I’m not thinking about you
How my hands never forgot your touch
How you looked at me like I was your equal
How-well maybe it’s a little about you.
But don’t feel bad!
You were just being friendly
You were just doing your job
You were just a fantasy that you never asked for
What did I expect?
Not that I could leave behind my shadow and pick up the Xeroxed copy of yours
That I could feel dirtier knowing myself than when I thought I could choose not to follow
Not that I would always follow
3 feet behind and 30 below.
And I don’t know how to apologize for the crime I got away with
How to mail the money for the lip-gloss back to the store
Without hurting you
Without telling you that you are not human, you were a ladder rung
And that no matter how hard I try to push away
To launch myself into the air whether it is to fly or fall
Something has tied me to you
And I always end up suspended upside down by my ankle
And I can’t come to your show
Can’t come cause I don’t think I ever knew you
Can’t sink into a fantasy that broke my heart
That sold your soul for my broken bones
That I chose to worship you rather than worship hating myself
It’s like a stomach flu.
Maybe I'll see you at the next one
And I’m sorry
Oh, I just don’t feel well.
It’s like a stomachache every time my friends ask about love.
Not that I’m blaming you
It’s not you
It’s me.
It’s how I scream someone else’s name to convince myself that I’m not thinking about you
How my hands never forgot your touch
How you looked at me like I was your equal
How-well maybe it’s a little about you.
But don’t feel bad!
You were just being friendly
You were just doing your job
You were just a fantasy that you never asked for
What did I expect?
Not that I could leave behind my shadow and pick up the Xeroxed copy of yours
That I could feel dirtier knowing myself than when I thought I could choose not to follow
Not that I would always follow
3 feet behind and 30 below.
And I don’t know how to apologize for the crime I got away with
How to mail the money for the lip-gloss back to the store
Without hurting you
Without telling you that you are not human, you were a ladder rung
And that no matter how hard I try to push away
To launch myself into the air whether it is to fly or fall
Something has tied me to you
And I always end up suspended upside down by my ankle
And I can’t come to your show
Can’t come cause I don’t think I ever knew you
Can’t sink into a fantasy that broke my heart
That sold your soul for my broken bones
That I chose to worship you rather than worship hating myself
It’s like a stomach flu.
Maybe I'll see you at the next one
And I’m sorry