I am synonymous with destructive, and it's more than you've ever wished you could be.

Yes.

No.

Romanticism at its finest.

I'm posting far too much today.

I woke up, up, up, and fell.

Down.

Backwards.

Into you.

Into myself.

(Fuck, I don't even know who I'm talking about anymore.)

Soft curves sharp angles the outlines of your words, your shadow,

All biting into me.
I am your worst nightmare, and honey you've never seen me this vicious.

My metaphors are improving and I'm swiping my card one more time.

Signing my name.

Pushing buttons.

Yes.

No.

Conceit at its very worst.

I am getting much better at this.

Inches, feet, miles,

But somehow every sentence is still starting with I.

My priorities are shifting,

By inches,

feet,

miles.

My [inches]feet[miles] are bare and the sun is back on my neck.

I pushed you intounderaround my skin and now I think I'm okay.

And it's another notch in your bedpost, babe, but I'm just getting started.

I'm paperclipping my thoughts together for easy access and this is what comes from trying to get organized.

It's crawling up and down my arms,

And Elanor Rigby is just another face.

Flames lick up and it's surprising how much I don't mind.

I'm changing.

Reworking myself.

Please pardon the construction.

This is only for the attention.

Every coccoon is torture for each unlucky little catterpillar.

Maybe it's the alienation?

I don't know.

Yes.

No.

And again I'm adding myself up, but I don't think I'm enough anymore.

The sum of our parts and all of that.

Your intentions are always so much clearer with my corrective lenses.

Insert witty turn of phrase here.

You're not winning any fucking trophies, but then again neither am I.

You're bad and I'm worse and my skin is tainted with it.

The eyeliner's trying to hide what's just fine.

And it's running because you can't see past yourself.

Grow a brain, darling.

We all have to get over ourselves sometime.

But I'm a masochist and I think I'm going to stay inside my preprogrammed torture device just a bit longer.

Being trapped in yourself isn't so great.

But it's better than being wrapped up in everyone else's silk thread.

When I grow up, I want to be a jacket made in China.

Homegrown and adored for what I can do.'

Appreciated for my talents,even if they are only instinct.

Rapunzel never had it this good.

The spinach, not the girl, and things in fairytales always come in threes.

Three hearts, three kisses, three breaking points.

It's easier if I think about it that way.

Let's all beat at the same time and become a better lifesaving device than any defibrillator could hope to be.]

1. 2.I'm not trying to woo you.

3. 4. Not anymore.

Yes.

No.

And I'm back to simple rhymes.

See you on the other side?

(Yes?

No.)