2003-10-07 @ 9:29 a.m.

Straight-laced boy doesn't play with fire, but that doesn't stop him from flipping open that book of matches to ignite his teeth-chattering, nail-biting, hair-pulling habit of putting that slender cylinder to his lips and taking a puff.


A puff of air. A puff of smoke. A puff of breath.

So you breath this addiction into your lungs and say you've done nothing of the sort before. You're innocent, or so you claim.

And you innocently ripped the filter from your menthol cigarette with the swift fingers of an expert, and held a sly grin on your face.

I'm clean, I swear.

And you seem so rotten.

And I can tell you're lying, but I don't care, 'cause it's just so much fun to watch you try to convince me otherwise.

And maybe I'm the one who's lying. Lying to myself about you.

If I lived in your realities of lip-biting, eye lid-fluttering, nicotine craving-madness, I'm sure I'd see things your way.

Invite me in -I'm knocking.


Listening to: Myself singing "Something Rotten" by Placebo

<<before - after>>

The Weather Underground - 2008-11-12
- - 2008-05-06
She knows I can read. - 2008-05-06
William Jacobson - 2008-05-02
Lost Boys - 2008-04-30

everything © Claudia (2003-2008)