We’re all a little bit fucked up. If you think you’re not, then you’re probably the most fucked up
I want so badly to pick up the phone and call you. There’s so much I want to say to you but I don’t know where to start. I think no wait, I over think everything. What I will say to you. What I should say to you, what I shouldn’t say to you. I find the courage. I pick up the phone and I call you. “Hey” you say to me and that one word just stops my world. But it’s not the word. It’s your voice. I stop breathing and I forget everything I wanted to say you. In my mind I say to myself next time. Next time I will speak. But I’m running out of next times. Now you’re with her.
I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t run out of next times.
You’re a disease that has infected my mind and body and there’s no cure. Well there is a cure. You. Disease but a cure at the same time.
Your touch, it send shivers down to my toes
Your smile, it tugs at my heart strings I forget my breath for a second. Or 2. I have no breath to count.
Your eyes, so full of mystery and…something I can’t quite get but desperately need to know
Your voice, covers my ears like a warm blanket on a windy day
Your kiss, soft, light. sacred. it warms my skin and I’m on fire
You do things to me, you make me feel
I hate you , you’ve got a hold on me I