/you always did know how to lie/ (I still think I can fly)/

A collection of poems. For a boy. {I know a boy with safety-pinned pixie wings.}

ff The vodka in my glass tastes a lot like l o v e in a place like this, rr

and its you

You pain me & I paint you, but somehow it just seems to work out in thatFucked up, perfect sense of ‘I wish I was anywhere else but here.’

She can paint me beautiful, but there are no “I love you’s” in her poetry she doesnt belive in writing fiction

your hiding all of the ‘happily ever afters’ you never got that far anywayleaving damsels in distress and jack with the giants