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i don't have a title for this.

i don't have a title for this.

I always get myself
into this mess.
I find someone who tells me
I am beautiful.
I believe it like a nihilist
believes in god.
I never jump thinking
that someone will catch me.
I always carry wings
on the way down.

I’m a cold hearted cynic
and love won’t be the death of me.
Except.

He tells me that he likes
the way that I look
and somehow I think
he just might.
He holds me like a child
holds hope in his heart
and in his hands,
cupped at the fountain.
And somehow,
and I can’t understand why,
He cares for me
like my mother never did
and my father only attempted
to try.

sleep with you.

sleep with you.

Urniation, Gas Stations, and Interrogation.

Urniation, Gas Stations, and Interrogation.