too bad it's the middle of juneand my Christmas lights are still up.for once I'm sober, but you're still on my mindyou're no longer a drunk thought.I thought you would go away when the vodka did, or the jack daniels, or even the Jose Cuervo; but all the alcohol is gone and the thought of you is as stong as the first sip of greygoose.
On my arms,In the summertime.Its hot outside,But I don't mind.It covers everything I hide.I say its for style,To seem like I don't care,But that's all a lie,I notice everything that's there.Why do I wear sweatersIn the summertime?To cover my arms,That are covered with scars.And While you're too focused on my pretty sweaters,I'm silently hopingEverything will get better.
She smokesHe cutsDifferent thingsBut for the same reasons.She's harmedOn the insideHe's harmedOn the out.Her skin hidesThe effectsLong sleevesHide his.With the disguisesShe can't see his painAnd he can't see hers.Their eyes tell
When I behold a forest spreadWith silken trees upon thy head;And when I see that other dressOf flowers set in comeliness;When I behold another graceIn the ascent of curious lace,Which, like a pinnacle, doth shewThe top, and the top-gallant too;Then, when I see thy tresses boundInto an oval, square, or round,And knit in knots far more than I.Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;Next, when those lawny films I seePlay with a wild civility;And all those airy silks to flow,
Sweet serene sky-like flower,Haste to adorn her bower;From thy long cloudy bedShoot forth thy damask head!New-startled blush of Flora,The grief of pale Aurora,Who will contest no more,Haste, haste to strew her floor!Vermilion ball that's givenFrom lip to lip in heaven,Love's couch's coverlet,Haste, haste to make her bed!Dear offspring of pleased VenusAnd jolly plump Silenus,Haste, haste to deck the hairOf the only sweetly fair!