Argue

I think that it's love...




tell me that it's love? Maybe.


It's too soon for this, isn't it? hah. Look at me. Look at this.

None of That Seems to Matter

No, I don't give a fuck about empathy; I don't give a fuck about consideration; I don't give a fuck.
(He knows this street well.)
I think it all up; I think what I want to feel; it's pretend.
(He says that he loves.)
It isn't pretend, but only my wanting of what I think I should feel; what I should have; what I want. Yes, then, pretend.
(He gives me a kiss. He gives me a kiss. He GIVES me a kiss.)
I want those lips more than what is overwhelming, and I still question their sincereity.
(He says that he's sorry that he'd forgotten.)
It's okay. Because I had forgotten too.
I'm not one to try to get you into trouble. I'm not one to demand, and I'm not the kind to expect unrealistic things from you, but I'm not a push-over.
(He laughs at me.)
I want to tell you everything.
What I've gotten into.
What I saw that he's talking about too.
(He says that he supposes that he'll open up to us.)
And so, with another notch notched, another heart opened, another possibilty of something so wonderful, something so drastic and tragic, I listen to the beat of his heart.
And fuck it.
Because who ever thought to listen to mine?
I'm the one that you just shrugged your shoulders at.
(He's the one that you bug out your eyes at. He knows it.)


We sit in a car with a breaking engine
We work at our job with a broken dishwasher
We lust with a broken heart
And you look up at me with the most beautiful of eyes I've ever seen, and you have to look back at my ordinary, not extraordinary eyes.
Perhaps it isn't fair.
Perhaps it's all just "karma".
Maybe just one for the lady...

"An ounce of love is worth a pound of knowledge."