WhereismyKeys

You’re a soft spoken mess You’ve been stained by the waste That you placed in yourself Always saved by the bell Spacing out on the heroin I was never a heroine But you think I could save you I would think again Would I have a say, will you run away The first chance you get your hands on something And do you know how I could fill the void She buried in your thoughts She burned into your soul Skinny like a skeleton Moving fast on your spider legs You always seem like your somewhere else Thinking of your medicine Your hands are scared with your battle wounds Wouldn’t tell me what happened to you What have you done to yours

Twin flames The bed is not a bed at all, it’s just a blow-up matrass on the floor. She’s thought, if only she could win the lottery and move out from her parents into her own little apartment, nothing fancy, really, just somewhere with a modern kitchen and bathroom and a terrace to smoke on, with white walls and a shiny, wooden floor. So they could sleep on a real bed, and even maybe have coffee and a cigarette in the morning, make breakfast in the kitchen. She thinks it would heal him, heal them. You are where you live, as they say. And at the moment, where he lives is not a home. It’s clear that he can’t take care o

My heart beats wrongly In my chest Either strongly; without rest Or dull and slow With pause between As though it shall Give up on me

Breakfast is served and it ends on the floor Everybody hears it and everybody knows That by now she must have crocked toes But she always keeps all her cards real close To her chest Her black and blue and yellow chest To her chest Her beat and bruised and blemished chest She and her boy's in a game of chess Starts of real neat but always ends up in a mess He gets real mad when she's wearing a dress And so he has to show her by giving her a peck On the chest Her black and blue and yellow chest Her little chest Her beat and bruised and blemished chest Curious noise in the midst of the dawn It's fuzzy but she's got some red on

never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother. he will be too gentle with your lips, too sincere when he whispers blessings into your ears pleading that he doesn't deserve you. his tongue will not slither between your teeth. instead, the heat of his mouth will melt your scar tissue until there is no trace of your travels. never fall in love with a boy who loves his grandmother. he knows patience. you will try to convince him that it is one of the many virtues you don't yet possess, but he will dig through the flesh in your ribcage until he finds it lodged beneath everything you're too scared to confess. he will teach you forg