That awkward moment when your English teacher tells you how beautifully you write, to soften the blow of how terribly you put thought together.
At 2:39 am in Jamaica, I saw through your guise and deep into your emerald eyes
And they told me I was waiting for the wrong broken doll to stand on unbelievably arched feet.
I have no fucking time, I’m tired, but I still have passion (no money…) so I guess in 50-60 years I’ll have money, time, and not much else. Life is funny.