Monday, September 2, 2013

black murder...

(listen to rumble by link way while reading) 

the nights are young and so are our chances for romance. he playfully tipped my hat... 
the first song he played to me was a a country song... the one that tore my world apart.  "they have to have something to write about" i explained to laura after she asked if i was still crushing on harry. oh of course i am, sometimes you can not and will not say goodbye.

"he still needs to get used to the idea that you are here."

'what are you doing here?'
harry, i am in love with you... that is what i should've said. but you don't get it often ...  give him something to feel. give me something to bleed about.

the jaded ambitions of believing in love is what pushed; being interesting is the key point of what he is trying to make. the fulls and hearts blur out my actual feelings and before i know it... the palm of my hand brushed his hip.

too far.
too much.
the relativity of my actuality is what makes me evil. i hate so much to be untouched that i catch myself holding my breath.
the wind howls outside as i lay in solitude trying to calm my... anger. alone in this story book of unreasonable explanations and scenarios... 'who do you think you are... girl, you can really move.' said pappy. 

written august 30 2013, the night of mr. harrison's day of supposed birth to earth. 

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