I can’t be with the man I love, I can’t be if he treats me rough, I can’t see him. I can’t call him up.
nothing’s ever free.
As i lay on my balloon bed on the ground of my empty apartment, the dirty laundry is collecting in the next room, i find myself searching for leftover coins in old jean pockets, and letting out tiny whimpers under my breath each time my fingers mistake a nickel for a quarter. Sometimes i like to call Los Angeles a sink hole. Other times, utopia. I’ll have bursts of bliss walking past the local coffee shop, having an attractive stranger rushing to open the door for me. a girl like me. Then i remember, the boys here are wicked.
Its a good thing they are, because at this point i only need someone to rescue me, and no boy wants to rescue a girl who’s slowly going insane. too much of a burden, too much baggage. so i need to start saving me from myself. Stuck in a city thats half paradise half hell.
I’m livin’ the dream, I guess. So excuse me while I return to it.
i just want pink hair.
see, sometimes i just cant help myself, or my thoughts
but i think about it, about you. And the end of Winter when we spoke, and the beginning of March, seeing you for the first time over again.
lights, and cafes, and car rides, and first kisses, and music tapes.
i think of the wooden walkway to the lake
and I think of being understood
and I think of caring about someone too much
and I think of you
and I get really scared.
Roses in my hair and your breath smelled like Whisky- Promised anywhere that I go- id take you with me. Dancin on your feet like a child to the Radio- Hello Hello- Where did you go?