look at me now.

Wednesday, 26 July 2017

phoned, fucked, psycho ex, good luck.

I double triple quadruple text,
call a hundred thousand times
and barely ever get the same back.

What's the point of wanting something so bad,
if it doesn't want to be there?


No one's fault but my own,
head too far up in the clouds,
I kept on believing I had a place where I was not found.

Denying myself, it's me that wants you here.
Some days I wish you heard.

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