the dull and rotten waiting seems to be my destiny...

i am sad and poor and rotten. your love brings me great grief. he said that my insides were like a rotten apple. god, so red and shiny on the outside, as new as a beautiful, shiny convertible. but my insides are black like the leather interior. not nearly as shiny, though. dull, dull... and they make fun, they tease and tease - thinking that every single word is nothing more than a little slap on the cheek. but they are barbs, and they bear the pain of all the rotten fruit that passed through your skin on contact. oh, i am rotten and sinful. sometimes my eyes get so wide that they seem as if they'll pop straight out of my head - sometimes you have to burn it down to rebuild it from the foundation. the worms crawl out of my rotten core, my heart - it is decayed and decomposed.

the only time i feel whole is when the music streams through my ears like a river of gold, and my nerves become tunnels for the thoughts to escape into friendly territory. we drove until we had no worries, and screamed and hollered, turned into savages. i want you to climb through the brush and rescue me from all my wrong desires. i want you to come save me, come claim me. i'm here. waiting, waiting... waiting.