While sleeping through the worry there was a moment when the last good part of me died. It wasn't angry or rebellious, not mean spirited or even dramatic.. It kinda just coughed, sputtered and then died in its sleep.
So this will be a collective effort in giving up. I'm still stuck with glue on my fingertips and tiny hopes and dreams in my lap... all of which were a continued effort to take your doll house dreams and make them real.
This has turned into a fascination; an obsession with seeing how far apart a heart beat can be. You said the classics never go out of style, but I don't see you wearing me to any hit parties, just crashing my own. Bad luck has nothing on me.
There's an art to staying clean, but they've only given me this dirt as canvas.
