28.02.04 - 9:11 PM
You're just. You're so irritating, and I am so indifferent. You make so many mistakes and I toss remedies out of my mouth, mechanical, and you never listen. Every time I talk to you, you are fucking up.
He's just. He's incredible. His eyes are so big and his skin is so pale, his hair is so slick and his hands are so calloused. He walks with this sense of pride, but when he sits, he sinks. Sink to the beat. We share music like intercourse. Every time we dash down lyrics that only we know, it's like we're fucking. It's like we're fucking, and he's a lion in bed.
He sits beside me in class and we're both stoned. I keep dazing over towards him, smiling because I am so goddamn horny, and I can hear him singing under his breath. I know what he is singing. And I want his hot breath on my neck.
I want to know him for the rest of my life. I want to make plans to die with him, make plans to live with him, make plans to start with him. I want to make a blueprint for the rest of our lives with him. We are architects. We will build a world based on music, based on absolute attraction, brilliant eyes and creamy skin. His lips are so swollen. I want to tear his mouth open like a peach, suck on him like the pit.
I'm just. I'm moving too slowly for my mind to put up with. I am ready to run rampant but my legs won't run as fast as my mind tells it to. My hands won't write as fast as I think, and I lose. He can make me faster. He can slow me down. He can control me like the moon controls the tides of the ocean. He can make me rise. He can make me come.
