these typed letters
Hide behind your crystal screen and blow kisses at me
Go write your name on my chest in kerosene
Spark a match, and you won't be cold again
Coldest eyes, and the softest touch
(Those three words destroyed Every inch of me yet you keep speaking)

/

I slice my wrists of paper scars and picture frames
Set him on death row, put the dead Kennedy in the ground

/

plaid skirts that hide love, walk in single file, ties that restrict blood from the brain.
passing notes in math class, it's a coming of age story. freedom wears the scars of desire.

conflicting impulses.

anxious eyes stare out of warped glass, waiting for the three o'clock bell.

I'm trying hard to forget that cold October day, when Love challenged Freedom to a fist fight. Freedom looked victorious, but no one was expecting the outcome on that baseball diamond... When Love reached beneath her plaid jumper, pulled out a switch-blade, and drove it directly through the heart of St. Angeles.

any notion of self-government was left by love bleeding on the pitcher's mound.

/

raped by my childhood, what the hell do i know about rape anyways?
you always used to stay within arms reach,
now it seems i'm all by myself
boring cliched self-destruction
people with taz tattoos, explosive personalities, self-centeredness, protractor from your new geometry set, inability to do math, geography,
polaroids of polar bears

(alexisonfire)