and I have to touch myself
to think about you

I don't need to feel it
to know you're crying

you'd better cry yourself to sleep every day.
I hope you do, too.


you know I look at your window
every other day
can't stop thinking about it

I listen to your song
your boring sad songs

Hi,
I'm your sociopath for the day. How do you do?

my brain is bored by your openness.

'here's my number'
-her number started. she didn't know she was in the circus.


'call her'
- i told him on that day.
- we could work it out. maybe be a family.

I was masturbating to you before you were re-born.
her only mistake was to take him for his word. she didn't know.

next week, next level.
- hey, i don't sleep alone.
- i wish you would have told me. but I guess we could work it out. maybe be a family.

here she comes. she brought flowers. the predictability of a wronged number.
I'd wished she got our number.

- it's so unfair. i miss you. guys.
- maybe if you're a good girl.
- aren't we all perfect?

she thought it was too much and we were too many.
so after stuffing us with love-food she set us on fire.

- I finally cracked and vomited you out.
- it's fine because I was sick, too. You were making me sweat for the wrong reasons.

now I'm re-dying all over again.
-he goes back to her and I go back to black.