Through traced lines and melodies.

What started as innocence, then tangled into a rolodex of beautiful men, with rings on their fingers, and wives in their beds. Thoughts through my head, ending in the same tearing realization. I am who I am. Years, and lines, and pages, and words you can count for the rest of your life, wont compare to the amount of anything worth giving time to, still with each word, lies true tearing conviction. Bold statements strewn where they could drape over chairs, and fall not onto deaf persons, but persons who could not care. They heavy, and fallow, and I'll swallow as long as they'll keep down. And you never disappoint.


p.s- By now, I do know the routine.