The Cure.
Mother make me dead. Sooth my spinning head.
Pull me by the guts. Tear the poison out.
Brain waves on fire.
Cursing another night.
Sunburncream.
Deep voices and dark throated boys.
It’s nice to lay down;
Release the tension in your shoulders.
I don’t remember who I wrote this about.
Between pizza, friendships, lustful hope, good music, video games, a bit of water, the sun coming up through my window and hopeful wishes of you, the night is a good one, with kisses on the cheek and hopeful hushes and twirling dances. A good one to remember and to cherish, where all is not too good or too bad; not let down, not over excited. A perfect harmony.
Silent
Her grip on you is strong
When she holds you by the head
When she hold you close to her chest
Because she doesn’t know if she will lose you
But you don’t know, it doesn’t mean she’s trying to hurt you
