London calls me a stranger


domingo, 21 de noviembre de 2010 11:52 | permalink | comment

I hate the way you talk to me
And the way you cut your hair
I hate the way you drive my car
I hate it when you stare

I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind
I hate you so much that it makes me sick
It even makes me ryhme

I hate the way you're always right
I hate it when you lie
I hate it when you make me laugh
Even worse when you make me cry

I hate the way you're not around
And the fact that you didn't call
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you

Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.




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Bianca, 17.
My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations.


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