that as long as we can be free we can love.
but today right now. tears have somehow made no difference.
it's stuck on repeat.
on fucking repeat.
constantly reminding me what he did to my creativity. he didn't hurt. he fucked things up.
music died when his blue eyes blonde hair and skinny jeans got in the way.
no one compares. standing there with my jeans. my art. my everything.
and for that second things were still.
black and white.
love is the new denim and black.
so goodnight.
go make love to the stark of my creativity.
No comments:
Post a Comment