Today I feel like writing about the mess my life has become, it’s such a tragedy
today I am feeling clichè, tired of all my romantic strategies
because love as I have known is a fucking mess
a mess of texts, perched ears and stolen glances
because love is the song to which this heart dances
and I dance like a fucking retard on ganza !
love is messy equations and buggy codes
to be stuck in loops of your own head way
when right feels left and left ——– well,…. left feels left out
when your own saliva dries out your mouth,
and theeeese fucccking lips
stick to each other ! surprise !
2 million things to say but stuck wondering – which would be the right order,
if I hurt her, it’d be murder, with just these words- just wasn’t meant to be !
Well, pause 2 seconds and scream
FUCK WHATEVER THE FUCKING HELL THAT MEANS
Just defining the way I feel about you
I feel jealous,
I feel retarded when I think of you
because you remind me of the strawberry chap-sticks,
and you would want me to think of more when I think of you
like independent woman, gorgeous and such shit.
Sorry love, but you remind me of strawberry chap-sticks
and i would never want to lose the smell of strawberry chap-sticks
orange fields we stole from, highway motels we dirtied
because love is a fucking mess-
a mess of bills and tips and missed monthly anniversaries
and THAT ONE DAY, when you do not see your love
THAT ONE DAY, when the mess escapes your routine
and you were supposed to feel clean,
but instead you feel – empty !
I feel like I am hunting for elusive words here
Love, quiet simply,
I feel sad when I am not with you
and love, I love the way you mess with my head
because If it was possible, when I am hungry- you’re the mess I would go to
because love, you’re the mess I want in my kitchen, and elsewhere too
because love, If I was surf excel you’re the mess I’d like to scrub
because love, if I was a child, you’re the mess I would scribble on my page
and love , if that child ever grows up to be an artist, you’re the mess I’d spray paint on the walls
I am sorry to be the mess myself
and you have to be the surf excel instead
but love,don’t fret just yet, kyun ki daag achhye hote hai !
From Love, Lots of love