Who am I? I am disappearing in this moment. I am lost when you are around. I am drowning in words, hanging on to each letter loosely falling from your lips. I'm going under. It has become to much; I see it now. I'm the girl your mother warned you about, as they say; but, my mother must have been away the day warnings were do, because I never got mine. That's what brings us here.
Who are you? The more we continue this the more I feel it. I want to pour my heart out to you and tell you exactly what I need from you. You will never see it. You will never be there. And you are so close and I am so far. Let's take another shot? Beautiful idea. With enough help from this bottle I might just forget everything there is to see in you. And you might remember where I'm standing.
There are many types of people in this world, in this house:
The guy who thinks this is the best night of his life. He thinks this moment will change him to the core. He is very high. He is very drunk. He is very much in love with the idea of having friends and having the ability to share his joy with anyone. He has made no substantial progress in the conversation, he will most likely journal about this night in an hour while he masturbates in his room that hasn't changed since 3rd grade. racecar bed.
I do not talk to this guy.
There is the girl who likes to cry and be drunk. She thinks she is hot shit (while her shorts ride up and she cries about people not loving her enough). This girl is in love with one guy in this particular vicinity... but she still sits on everyone just hoping to feel a nice hard dick, just for her. She leaves early after being tri-polar and experiencing every emotion known to man and 5 known only by dolphins. She is the rare exotic party bitch that is everywhere. Oh the irony (she likes to be "complex" to keep it interesting).
I do not look at this girl
The party bitch is usually friends with the pretty girl that gives her an inferiority complex.
The pretty girl has a man, true friends, and needs to impress no one. But she is still the envy of everyone.
Maybe even me.
But tonight is not about them. Oh no. Tonight is about you. It always will be, until it's not.
Like love. It is and then it isn't. This isn't, can't, won't, and no.
Stop meaning anything to me so I can sleep. Stop making my stomach whirl, stop making me smile. Stop invading my dreams. Just stop. I love you, but I'm a little sick of it. Even now, you distracted me while I was trying to explain this. Jerk.
Everyone has their niche. Everyone. But here, in this house, well let's just say most of these people are one in the same. Most of these people leave early. The smart but haunted by inner turmoil friend never even shows. And everyone wants sex and everyone wants drinks. And most people end up wasted alone and just as sad as they started.
Who are you? The more we continue this the more I feel it. I want to pour my heart out to you and tell you exactly what I need from you. You will never see it. You will never be there. And you are so close and I am so far. Let's take another shot? Beautiful idea. With enough help from this bottle I might just forget everything there is to see in you. And you might remember where I'm standing.
There are many types of people in this world, in this house:
The guy who thinks this is the best night of his life. He thinks this moment will change him to the core. He is very high. He is very drunk. He is very much in love with the idea of having friends and having the ability to share his joy with anyone. He has made no substantial progress in the conversation, he will most likely journal about this night in an hour while he masturbates in his room that hasn't changed since 3rd grade. racecar bed.
I do not talk to this guy.
There is the girl who likes to cry and be drunk. She thinks she is hot shit (while her shorts ride up and she cries about people not loving her enough). This girl is in love with one guy in this particular vicinity... but she still sits on everyone just hoping to feel a nice hard dick, just for her. She leaves early after being tri-polar and experiencing every emotion known to man and 5 known only by dolphins. She is the rare exotic party bitch that is everywhere. Oh the irony (she likes to be "complex" to keep it interesting).
I do not look at this girl
The party bitch is usually friends with the pretty girl that gives her an inferiority complex.
The pretty girl has a man, true friends, and needs to impress no one. But she is still the envy of everyone.
Maybe even me.
But tonight is not about them. Oh no. Tonight is about you. It always will be, until it's not.
Like love. It is and then it isn't. This isn't, can't, won't, and no.
Stop meaning anything to me so I can sleep. Stop making my stomach whirl, stop making me smile. Stop invading my dreams. Just stop. I love you, but I'm a little sick of it. Even now, you distracted me while I was trying to explain this. Jerk.
Everyone has their niche. Everyone. But here, in this house, well let's just say most of these people are one in the same. Most of these people leave early. The smart but haunted by inner turmoil friend never even shows. And everyone wants sex and everyone wants drinks. And most people end up wasted alone and just as sad as they started.
