Dizzy Dancing

Happy New Year, Little Monsters.

Crazy Beautiful

It's not just a coincidence. It's an intricate pattern of alphabets and interlocked fingers and secrets that we've discovered. And I love repeating it to myself. Not to you because I still get nervous and shy, you know. 

Sorry, I Apologize For My Lack of Propreity

I'm not competitive really. Only jealous. Rawr.

Everything

 Somehow whenever I'm looking I always find you here. Sometimes you wait for me under the sun, other times you make me wait in the dark. You don't leave until I ask you to. You ask me to stay. And I do. We have this place all to ourselves.
 
In a bedsheet summer dress with big yellow roses spilling words like sparks from fireworks. Showing you the colours underneath. Showing you the marks I was born with, the ones shaped like ladybirds that appeared later. Then counting the ones on you. Fingers sweeter than the strawberry cupcake frosting covering them. Eyes bright. Shiny. Hair long and loose and wild waves of water. Look for the trap door and J U M P ! Mr. Rabbit's clock is ticking already and Alice is in wonderland. But wasn't it all only a dream?
 
What runs through my veins now? But I wrote your name with mine in the sky. I wrote it in my best handwriting. Then a chill ran down my spine and it hurt me rather well.
 
Slowly erasing here and there, replace with against, beside and within. We do so much in surprisingly little space. Young for as long as possible, with you with me here for as long as I last. As long as you do. As long as I will. To begin again.
 
 
 

Rawr Does Not Mean I Love You In Dinosaur. Bitches.

I'm a competitive byaatch. Hear me rawr.

Sometimes I wonder if I won't fit in just because I don't add to the stories of suffering that surround you. The stories that all your friends and the special ones tell you. The ones about the bleeding, the madness of loss and heartbreak, betrayal, abandonment and unintentional harm done over the years. All either forgiven or forgotten. So you listen and then the sympathy in your heart either makes you admire their bravery or reminds you of times when you felt cracked too. I can't lie to you, I'm not good at writing up stories.


So when you've seen or heard a lot, what's still special to you? I want to know.


Looking through her red box of memories,
Faded I'm sure,
But love seems to stick in her veins, you know?

Against the walls, on the windowsills, upon the book shelves and even on the floor, there are rows and rows of candles. We will light them all and bring the sun inside. And it might take a little while. Might take a few tears, a few tantrums, except we stopped fearing those long ago.

We will illuminate ourselves. We will illuminate each other. We will sit and watch the spectacle until all that's left is wax stubs. We might lie on our backs, maybe even face each other, whatever is more comfortable. We will wait for the light to die, then in beautiful united exhaustion You and I will fall asleep. Drifting together elsewhere. And you won't have to worry about waking up every few hours. That's when you'll know. For sure. If you don't already.

Yourself

Where did you come from? When you just appeared quietly, and they mistook you for something else? That's when you were a fleck of silver snow. Falling without a clue, unaware of where you might end up.
And white you were and white you will stay.
Directionless and quite easily distracted, you fell from a familiar place. That's when you landed, soft and cold, somewhere on his skin.
You let yourself drip. Melting around his heat, you lost yourself somewhere in the need to hold on.

Then time passed by, as time always does.

Now you know that sometimes snowflakes turn into shooting stars, and once in a while a star may transform into a supernova. And love, it will lead you that way. Lead you into his arms, lead you into the beginning of the rest of your life.

The heavens, they smile upon you.

A Thousand Unforgiven Sins

I felt like my head was hollow with a heavy metal sphere rolling around inside it. Hitting really hard against the walls every now and then.
The blood circulating in my body was at a significantly higher temperature until I realized something. That's when it turned cold. It slowly began to sink in that soon I won't be able to remember exactly what you smell like. I still manage to surprise myself when randomly I catch a whiff of you, out of nowhere, out of thin air. Unexpectedly, unplanned. That's when I feel so much closer and even though my heart usually beats at twice its usual speed at these moments, I still feel exceptionally calm. How will I feel exceptionally calm now?

I could go on.
Something inside my gut is telling me to stop. Writing.

Birthdays and Boys

We're too young to make babies. Potential fathers leave us questioning ourselves. Big words usually confuse us and we may not be intelligent when making decisions but we have the valuable ability to feel. We are girls and we are better than boys.
Lately all I really want is just to feel her lips with mine.I want to kiss girls. All the pretty ones. And you're an idiot if my lesbian tendencies scare you.
Boys have scratchy faces that leave stupid little gashes on our rosy cheeks.  A girl on the other hand, soft and smooth as a cashmere sweater.
I'm fantastic and special just because I can bleed for days every month and still be alive.
And some day, when they will marry me off to a man I hardly know, inside myself I will turn him and me into a cute little human being. Possibly even more than one cute little human beings.
And if I give birth to a girl, I'll let her talk to boys. I'll let her invite them to our house and I will leave them alone for a little while. Enough time for a kiss or two.

Right In Front of Me

I just want you to spin me around.
Can you spin me around, please?

After much pleading and strategic tickling, he agreed. She laughed and laughed, screaming happily and kicking her legs in the air. He spun her really fast, so fast that when she looked up she saw the fan stay still.


Not so fast! Not this fast!


I can only do one speed, paagal.


The best part though was that even if she did let go and waved her arms about he would still be holding on to her, carrying her, spinning her at ceiling fan speeds while they got disapproving looks from the grown-ups.


She was half the size of him, half the age too. With almost invisible gold fuzz all over her skin and the sound of her 't's softer than snow, the half Muslim girl is learning to make friends in a place that she doesn't belong to. Or maybe a place that she belongs to the most.

Dear Shahrukh,

Can you please pretend to be lost again so I can help you find the place you want to go? The person you want to meet?
I promise you my skin is soft and new. I promise I'll let you touch it despite the shivers and the jolts. I promise you my hair is washed with Chinese Cinnamon shampoo. I promise you my chains and necklaces are very easy to unhook. Easy to untangle and easier to break.
Your voice likes to give me sleeplessness and your pictures prefer to give dreams.
The stars on your fingertips, the moon in your eyes, the night in your breath. The universe in you. It's all I see. But a chance to see through your eyes and I might even tell you that I'm in love with you.
There is so much we need to change about us.
All I'm asking for is a nod of your head and we're all set to go.
You and I, doing great cliched things, like finding a cure for cancer?

Just Like Heaven

There are plenty of boxes left to fill. Trying one by one, it stills feels somewhat empty though. Gladly I'm going to keep accepting all the printed pages of Sudoku you slip my way and now I've got a puzzlebook full of them.
Truth is, my lips belong, for just once, somewhere near yours. My soul asks to be in sync with yours.
And you see outside puzzles. You see the plastic and stone world around and you inhale its smoke. With a sigh and a smile you let it out. With a sigh and a smile you let me out.

Would they have silk threads of hair like you, falling in place itself, or my thick black waves?

My Favourite Pictures of You

There's a picture of you. Your two year old self is playing with waterproof toys in the bathtub. You have six teeth in your mouth and you're very busy creating all sorts of splash storms and bubble trouble.

There's a picture of you decked in saffron marigolds. Decked in gold, with red patterns on your hands. There is a betel leaf in your palm and his mother is busy smearing it with henna. The smile on your face is wider than an ocean, but the smile in your eyes is building bridges into the woman's heart. The possible fragility of these bridges is something you're just starting to worry about.

There is a picture of you lounging on a sofa. You are in some book shop in Lisbon but you're busy reading the hard lines on your hands. You are counting the divisions on your fingers with concentration so fierce it seems you are studying, in depth, works of Tolstoy or Dostoevsky rather than going over familiar paths. Next to your foot is a spilled cardboard cup of coffee.

There is a picture of the back of your head. You are sitting in front of your computer. The words on the screen are blurred and illegible. The date indicates that the photo is two years and almost five months old. Judging from that time, you must have been writing an e-mail. Or better yet a poem. Rhyme used to be your choice of expression then.

There is a picture of you with your hair in your face while you're playing a blue electric guitar. You've got a mad look on your face and you're beaming at the girl standing with the keyboards right next to you. She's singing happily. The songs you've taught her. You are more proud of her that moment than you've ever been of anyone before. What a woman she's become.

There is a picture of you wearing over-sized sunglasses and beach shorts. Standing in front of a homemade birthday cake with dripping raspberry pink and apple green frosting, you are holding up the cake knife like a sword, trying to scare your parents. The joy on your face is priceless. It's the irreplaceable joy of turning six years old.

There is a picture of you asleep. Unaware, perhaps, or dreaming.

There is a picture of you wearing black lace, velvet and f aux diamonds. Your back is towards your bathroom mirror. Your voluminous black hair reaches your waist and you resemble a goddess painted on a Greek urn. You bring light into my atmosphere.


Photographs. Distorted versions of the truth maybe? Bound in albums and frames and frozen forever.

Yes, I Smile

because all this time you knew and all this time I believed I was the only one who saw it so it wasn't really a secret after all. It was something I shared and I smile because I don't know why or what or how but love is the only thing that fits between me and you and you can dismiss this idea with a careless shake of your head. But, no.

I Hardly Remember the Taste But I Could Still Identify the Smell From Among a Thousand Others

I change my mind about you almost twenty times a day. But there's one thing I know for sure. I'll go back.
To that dark corner, where the walls were painted with pink castles like an extension of reality.
Go back to when the warnings in my head were drowned out by your alien pulse. Your traveling heartbeat. Going through the flesh and bone of your chest, through the fabric of your shirt, and reaching its destination in my ear.
Then you spotted the carving on the wall. The carving that marked the place Someone had loved Someone Else. And together those two watched over us. Only shyly looking away once or twice.
They wrote down our future for us because they saw what they saw. They didn't even ask or let us decide.

***

You know me, you know I'll stay uncertain forever because its easy. Easier than to stand tall in front of the decision at the end of this tunnel. Me? I'm so unlike you.

So I started to think I had stepped out once more with armour intact and shield in hand. I started to think that your arrows wouldn't be able to pierce my mental metal. I started to think that I wouldn't fall when wind blew fierce, like desire. And I did become impervious, but incompletely. In my mind.
Now I'm defeated, embarrassed and back to square one. Disgusted by my words. The ones I spoke and the ones I wrote.
And you, you couldn't get inside the empty ones and you're here. This is hardly your territory.

See, you're headed in the right direction and time will tell, but come on, don't try this hard.

Every time that I said it was about me, it was actually about you.

The Adventures of Mr.Paradox and Friends

He carried a little black box with him at all times, tied it together with ribbon and in small neat handwriting wrote on it 'My Best Intentions'. Very few people knew that the box had always been empty. He paraded it around, held it close and gave the impression that it was something very dear to him, that empty little box.

He always wore a chocolate-coloured coat, on the inside of which he'd sown on a few pockets. In small neat stitches he put labels on each. The one labeled 'My Love' held a twenty-six piece childrens' puzzle that assembled to form the letters of the alphabet. His second pocket was labeled 'My Time'. It contained a broken string of pearls. The third, and last, pocket labeled 'Morals/Dignity/Respect/Honesty/Self' was empty, like the box.

And one day he fell in love, with that friend, the one who held him together and actually meant something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out five puzzle pieces to spell her name. He sliced open his chest, and there he placed them, like a title upon his heart. To honour her. She loved him too, but he wasn't all that she wanted and when she set off to find that man, the one she'd be proud to love, she decided he was extra baggage that couldn't be taken along on her journey. So she left, just like that. With all the explanations and reasons given, she left. And he was left helpless with branded heart and all. He would cut himself and pull her out but that was pain even he couldn't take one more time. What was he to do?

He has been around a long time and now he knows how things usually turn out and so he never intends for anything at all. He lets them grow until the roots and stems become so strong that they break through the walls of their round glass bowls. They overflow and bubble and leak out to form a flood. Leaving him no place to stand and so he withdraws and quits.

His existence is lingering but fading towards permanent.

If he could set words to fire, he'd only set fire to himself. He swore to God. Yes, he did.

Get up, get out, get away from these liars
'Cause they don't get your soul or your fire.
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time.

Because Some Things Don't Go Away

This ever-changing number is a symbol of our growth. It is God's method of reinforcing the constant inconsistency of life.
Tomorrow after today and later after now. Some things are difficult to escape from. An expensive habit that leads to the door of an old friend. An addictive drug.
Or just the process of accepting ourselves.

Bent needles only stitch broken chains. Uneven patterned paisleys with purple Anchor.

And you will find yourself flailing your arms wildly and kicking violently in a pool that you once proudly filled. You will also see the people peering from above, shaking their heads, watching you sink and saying to each other they didn't want to waste their breath. On you.
So the sinking will continue for a while, then cease.
The ever-changing number will stop changing.

The Artists

We travel. You are near, with your monsoon love. With your gusts of affection, your showers of adoration. Gods and goddesses come through. A teacher and a student. Naivety comes through like the strand of your hair falling into your eye. One Non-grainy Canson sheet after another. Grape vine after grape vine. We paint. Oils and water. Density and weightlessness together in the same works of art. Paint our minds and paint our souls. Cages of skin and blood and veins opened to set free everything. Charcoal ideas and pencil inspiration.
Two paintings but only one masterpiece.

And maybe I shouldn't have.

What lights up London, Paris and Tokyo?

Who walks upon their neon-lit pavements?

What magazines do passengers in whirring subway trains read?

How many people watch their dreams dissolve in these Big Cities?

How many people find Love there?

Who lives life like we never will?

Poem

My mind will become like an open book,
Where the chains of thought will all unhook.
The words are black, The pages are white.
Gray shall find his place soon beside.

One question still, I don't exactly know,
Will he want to read all he's read before?

Turn

The lazy June evening sun awaits.
Tiptoeing across sandstone pavements and grass that's ever so cool. Heat clings to skin like a mask and we stir things up. It is summer.
Pools of cold water offer refuge to our flammable hearts and we spiral deep into them. But when we come out, fighting the weight of the water, we find ourselves dyed in hues of purple and turqoise and magenta.
When we stand before each other, recognition fails to appear in our eyes.

His Heart?

There is a heart beneath layers of skin. There is a heart behind his habits, his behavior. A heart maybe not of gold, but silver so pure and so very soft. This heart that keeps him alive, keeps her alive too. It's the same heart that beat when he wrote her fifty songs for their fifty days. And he lives for her almond-scented skin. He lives for her sound.
He's seen the world and the world's seen him.
I write this because I know he will never read it. He's far away.
In my eyes he's forever blue.

Plans

It's five minutes past twelve and your phone rings. We're both so bored and unable to sleep. Besides it's summer, we need this. Thirty minutes to get ready and we're out. I can't believe I'm finally going to do this. Stuff the keys in my pocket and head out the kitchen door. Be extra careful to walk slow, don't want to wake them up.
It's not funny. Have you ever tried jumping over a six feet high wall, bitch? I think not.
So anyway, where are we going? Do you know? I don't. We're supposed to remember this night for a long time. No pressure though.
This car smells like...Mangoes? We're at the park before we know it but the gates are closed. Damn, did I have to wear skinny pants? I can't climb over this fence and you're laughing again. Did you just step in a cactus and get pricked all over your pretty legs, darling? It's dark except for the single light out on the road. It filters through the gaps in the leaves, casting thousands of slivered beams upon us. Bubbles? You have got to be kidding me! Do you really carry those around with you or did you bring them specially because tonight is supposed to be like the movies? Look at that brilliant sky and you'll soon know you've seen nothing like it. Each star sparkles stronger, a little more fiercely as it hangs between blackness. No, I'm not being cliched, it's like this every night, you just haven't been noticing.
You want to see your friends and I want to see mine but we're too lazy so we're going to stop at this tiny store and get ourselves something to drink. Orange juice? Fuck you. But you brought ice lollies so it's all cool. Mine is dripping all over my kameez and you're licking your fingers clean. It's actually thirty five degrees out here. We have strawberry stained lips now. That'd look sexy in pictures. Lucky for us though, 'cause I brought a camera, baby cakes.
Did we waste so much time already? Damn.
You're swearing really loud. I think your eyelash went into your eye. Stupid you. Now I'm telling jokes that really aren't funny but you're still doubling over and laughing like you're crazy. You're singing songs from the 60s and you sound actually very beautiful. We should sing together, you and I. We could call ourselves The You and I. That'd be so absolutely retarded and obvious.
I'm trying to keep you awake by tickling you. Maybe you just keep falling over onto my shoulder to annoy me. Either way, stop it. Fuck. The stars are disappearing already! But we get to watch morning happen.
Look, it's not the rise of the sun, but the change of sky.

Run Away

Walk a little closer to the edge and leave your hand.
There are oceans waiting to be breathed. There are sands waiting to burn. There are seashells to be heard. And there are lives to begin.
My throat is so dry from all the songs I've been singing. To the world but just not to you. Years from now will I be doing the same thing? Will I be thinking as endlessly of someone else as I do of you now?
I'm disappointed in myself. Do you know what that feels like?
I have so much to say. So much to explain. Yet it's unexplained in my head. It's like china that breaks over and over again. It's cyclic and it's fragile.
I sit and trace words to their roots when I know I'm not supposed to. Wouldn't it be easy if we could choose what we thought?
I know I'm not enough. I wonder if I'll ever be? For you or for anyone else. Will I? You tell me.
Fragmented and unwhole. Seeping cracks and this wound that heals and unheals. This infected cut.
Weak. Very weak. Worthless.
I go to that place. I see those people. I don't see you. And I'm so afraid that I want to run away.

The Planets Bend Between Us

You are divided. In pieces, in puzzles, in fractions. Everything about you is disconnected. Yet when you come together, like the planets and the stars and everything else that's out there, you make up my universe.

The smell of fabric softener. Your socks and my Sesame Street yellow t-shirt lying scattered on the black and white checkerboard linoleum floor. The memories of you and I, with our backs to the cabinets, in this very room. The laundry - Our little hideout. The place sounds like comfort. It feels like us. Our scent in our clothes.

I look out the window. The bougainvillaea I forced you to plant years ago. It's still overflowing with the same papery red flowers, do you see it? The corner of the backyard where we buried those parts of ourselves. You'd walk out in the middle of the night to go check on them, return with tears. The birds that we used to feed together.

The fears I overcame while I told you stories. The mud we used to play in, the insects that fell in our hair while your elbows gently collided with mine. The day I got my nose pierced. The invisibility of time, of worry, of everyone else. Brand new and special.

The gun in the back of your closet has been crossing my mind. It sits there unused. Brand new and special. We are weak and selfish people. We've closed all doors. Closed our hearts. We've conveniently lost faith. Dismissed hope.

The floor is wet. My hands smell like detergent. No matter how many times I wash these things, they stay the same. I guess it's impossible to lose some things.

I once knew a boy. In the first conversation we ever had, he told me stop living in the past.

It's Not Just Dogs She Likes, It's Your Shoes Too

Hot tears. Stinging words. And the conversation's replaying, the time turner's spinning and I've landed amidst your drama Shiny Girl. Your drama is my misery.
You've taught me many lessons. You've been so selfless and forgiving. All those times I called you a whore, you forgave me. Oh forgive me now too, I'm having a little difficulty understanding why the world seems to be stopping in its tracks just to get a glimpse of you. Just to hear your melodic tunes, just to play one little round with you. So they can tell the others when they recover and get back that they once knew you too. Had the chance to see you shine. Bask in your glory. Your magnificence. Your astounding existance. I'm so, so sorry though, I fail to see it.
Sometimes she'll shine so bright, she'll blind you. Be careful there. She's that girl. The one that really shines.

Jasmine Around the Wrist

Mirrors, lately, have been my worst enemy. A constant reminder of lack of symmetry.
I'm just going to avoid them too. Easier said than done, though.

When we fall in love, we're just falling in love with ourselves.
We're spiraling.

I Love You, Even More Than The Phone Bills

I like how you sound restless. Even when you've just gotten out of bed. You should just let me hear more of you.

We've made many lists in our life together. We've drawn many pictures. We've cracked too many jokes. We've wasted too much time.
We've let most of it go. We've reduced ourselves to dependence. We've been listening to other people. We've been watching time go by. We've been complaining.
Truth is, it doesn't really matter. You're the one with the pretty words, I'm the one with the pretty memories. It's not so bad. We still have our music.

Love.

Today she's a shark. Next she'll be a princess. A few days ago she was a shikaari. She went around taping white insects to the floor. Mercilessly crushed by her pink flips-flops soon after, the poor insects, with their yellow blood oozing from under the tape. That's just how she is, insect-murderess and all. She's beautiful. One day she'll come to me with her little problems and I will be there for her no matter what. She's tiny. And she's loud.
Her name is Meher. It means 'love'.

Bruised Lips With A Little Disappointment On The Side

Let's not reflect on the disasters that we created in this very place, this very room, this inch of space where I was and so were you. Because the mistakes that I'm thinking over are still not forgotten. They aren't old and stupid enough to be laughed at just yet. Give me a week or two and we'll get to that stage too.
Hello.
But more importantly, my inability to learn from the past has stopped annoying me anymore. I will listen to my heart no matter what you tell me to do. I will ruin my life just to give myself the satisfaction. To prove to you. It's good to talk but it's better to leave the apologies unsaid. Lifeless words said by lifeless people. Who are we fooling?
Ourselves.

B,
       You're not meant to be doing this. You were born to do bigger and better things. I swear.

No Turning Back

I liked being careful and cautious with you. Just thinking a little about what to do. Slowly, I see myself losing grip though. Like breaking into a smile.
I want you to never be angry at me. Never think I'm silly. Never to give you the opportunity to complain. Make you the reason for it all. Let you know everything and learn everything about you. Be in your heart like you beat in mine. Let you taste every little kiss the way it's meant to taste.

I want to give you everything out of nothing at all.

Confetti

Oh, it's not a good idea to get lost under stars with a cigarette in hand. It's not a good idea to not know what you want and get lost in every thing that's around you.
A little dizzy, I was. With my hazy judgment. Who's to blame? Why? When? Questions remain simpler unanswered and are forgotten soon enough. Out of answers resurface questions, and questions create problems.
Things fall into place gradually though and it's good. Just painful, but good. With help it's do-able. Usually.
Back to the confetti that was in my hair at the time. It was sparkly.

With Paper Clips, Safety Pins and Staples

I'm going to attach my heart to you.

You are gray. 

Between black and white. 

You are yellow. 

Sometimes fun but mostly a little too much to handle.

You are brown. 

You disgusting bastard.

You are green. 

Refreshing.

You are purple. 

Good memories.

You are blue. 

The colour we wore together.

You are white. 

Too beautiful and perfect, it's annoying.

You are red. 

So I've learned to envy you.

You are orange. 

Like fire.

You are pink. 

Raw skin.

And me? I'm still looking for a colour.

You, Your Sex Is On Fire

Oh, it seemed like a connection at the time. A real one. One that wouldn't wither away with passing time.

Hot as a fever, rattling bones,
I could just taste it, taste it,
If it's not forever, if it's just tonight,
Oh, it's still the greatest, the greatest, the greatest

Fuck feelings. I need to grow up.

I'm trying to learn how to survive on this chess board floor.

There is nothing to say. And for once it feels good. Somewhat like just lazing around under the sun. Or in the grass somewhere. And she comes to me holding her little red and orange ViewMaster. It used to be once mine. She lets me look through it. It reveals stories under beams of light. There's Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Hercules and even Toy Story.
The specks of dust are silver today, like any other day. And you're in my head, like any other day.

Porcelain Doll

Gorgeous, stunning, but more effortlessly so than any young woman I’ve ever seen. She walks with that worried look, highlighting the circles of graying skin underneath her eyes. Her skin is white like milk, her lips red and those eyes perfectly lined. It is obvious she is real. To think that she may be cosmetic is just not a possibility. Her hair is the shade of brown that glows golden under the sun. Mine, black, that always does stay just black. She braids it carelessly, letting it fall onto her shoulder. She may be a little rough around the edges but she is beautiful.

I watch in awe as she talks. Her words are meaningful and intimidating and that doesn’t surprise me.

What does surprise me is the lack of envy in my own eyes.

When we met light was shed.
Thoughts free flow, you said you've got something
Deep inside of you.

A wind chime voice sound,
Sway of your hips round rings true
Echo's deep inside of you.
These secret garden beams,
Changed my life so it seems.
Fall breeze blows outside,
I don't bring stride.
My thoughts are warm and they go
Deep inside of you.
And I never felt alone
'Til I met you.

Friends say I've changed,
I don't listen cause I live to be
Deep inside of you.
Slide of her dress shouts in darkness,
I'm so alive.
I am deep inside of you.

I've never felt alone
'Til I met you.
I'm alright on my own
'Til I met you.
And I'd know what to do If I just knew what's coming
I would change myself if I could.
I'd walk with my own people if I could find them
And I would say that I'm sorry to you,
I'm sorry to you.
But I don't want to call you
But then I want to call you
Cause I don't want to crush you
But I feel like crushing you and it's true
I took for granted you were with me,
I breath by your looks and you look right through me
But we were broken and didn't know it.
But we were broken and didn't know it.
But we were broken and didn't know it.
But we were broken and didn't know it.
Right, oh, what's right?
Something's gone,
You withdraw and I'm not strong like before,
I was
Deep inside of you.
I can go nowhere,
I burn candles and stare at a ghost,
Deep inside of you.
And some great need in me starts to bleed.
I've lost my self there's nothing left it's all gone.
Deep inside of you,
Deep inside of you.

Deep Inside of You - Third Eye Blind

We're So Good, It Hurts.

Dirty little whore, shows no remorse.

-----

And no. You're not an ass. Not even close.

There will be blood.
And there will be cake.

And did I mention the fireworks? In the fog, tonight. I promise. You won't believe me when I tell you it's all for you. By the way you look good when you're all dressed up, surrounded by your little whores. Here's the drinks. Go ahead, make a mess of yourself.

Don't go home just yet.
This party's just begun.