When I see your picture my heart forms a fissure,
I guess that I get this way.
I need a rooftop I can look from or jump off,
I guess that I get this way.
What's the problem, dear? Are you feeling unloved?
That's what I was most afraid of.
I need a fresh arm I can slice up or cut off,
I guess that I get this way.
When my skies are crooked my scars turn blue,
I guess that I get this way.
Monday, 24 January 2011
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