we played love, upon a tired stage
I gave in, and we came on a blank white page
the morning come, the sun was a tidal wave
that I rode from a shore that you were sure you replaced
readhead, are you red yet?
legs spread on some wretched poet’s deathbed
the sweetest sentences swept from a mind
you weren’t meant to be lying with
your mother said, stop fucking writers babe
I admit, my pen was sharp that day
even if it was indeed your pain
it was my play, her wave, our stage
redhead, are you read yet
legs spread on some wretched poet’s deathbed
sweetest sentences that came from a night
you never meant to be lying in
sometimes I think what a mind I have
that let’s me bleed in a way to be read
I apologize if I seemed insensitive
because in the end, you never did,
we just weren’t meant for this
with a sweet heart, comes sweet art
with a sweet heart, comes sweet art
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