I Write Best When I’m Sad
Just letting you know I washed the thought of you down with left over birthday cake vodka while lying on the floor of my room with a blanket of my sorrows. I wasn’t celebrating shit but you know how it is trying to get through life without a crutch baby. Bad times call for a get together minus the actual party because you’ll need friends for that. I wanna know if you still stare at the moon pretending it’s a pearl you wanted to pluck out of the sky for me because baby I swear I won’t fall back to Earth. I’m slurring my words & crying to my best friend at 4:04 am about this same boy, the whirlwind that swept me off my feet. I’m sprawled out staring at the ceiling and there’s constellations screaming SIKE WRONG TURN AHEAD. Fuck, I write about boys like I actually get any when literally I’ve been in love as many times as I can count on one hand. Just please don’t hook pinky fingers with mine and promise forever because I believe in stars falling out of the sky leaving me with a pitch black hole in my chest when you walk away. I believe in roses kissed by dew at 5 am. He’s my tsunami boy just creating waves in my heart- the choppy kind- like phone calls late at night. We compare our lovers to the weather because they are unpredictable. I wanna know if he is the sun because my head spins circles around this boy. Most of all, I want to sleep at night and not hear the rustling of trees outside my window because they remind me of crumpling paper and me writing a boy I’m trying to forget back into existence.