From her Doorstep. London, Part I
2002-08-06, 7:09 p.m.
This boy this...
This boy that...
He fucking has a name you know...
I know...
He doesn't know...
He'll never know...
The scent of defeat lies heavy in the air,
Heavy on my shoulders.
The smell of salty, sick tears and the sudden realization
of time wasted,
Of time spent in investations and instigations,
Investigations.
The obvious lies thick in the air,
Thick on my shoulders...
You want more from me than I can give you,
More from me than I have.
I can't give you anatomy that I wasn't born with.
Love is so much more than that...
So much more than you can give me...
So much more than you have.
My stomach rests in my throat,
My heart and pockets, empty...
8000 miles travelled to sit on your doorstep...
8000 miles travelled for something you could have
Told me on the phone...
8000 miles to be cold, wet, alone...
A life history of lying in bed
Cold, wet, alone...
Pieces of me I offerred and you pushed away.
You - Cold. Wet. Alone.
He - 8000 miles away.
last - next
