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What Tiled Floors Remind Me Of I:
08/31/2004 @ 7:51pm
By:
liiva

For you, I would not recommend love.
Away from the streets,
Your fingers smell
‘Cause you duck into school johns to masturbate.
And write of teenage hells, because you’re “different”.
Now my dirty baby,
You look for me in smoky coffee shops
Calling me late,
Saying my voice has changed.
There is no cure for your sweet entities.
You’ve infected me (holy) baby.
I haven’t licked your moon teeth,
Or felt you for humanity,
(Holy) baby, why do I cradle you month after month?
Dependencies stay with me until death.
You’re cutting around my (holy) corners – but no matter how you slice
It’s all empty.
Because, my (holy) sweetheart,
I cashed in.

 
Copyright © liiva, All Rights Reserved


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