jessewestend

She asked me why I never write About her when I write day and night about my world and about life about all the long nights with short term girls who dont know wrong from right
And hate the whole world.
I write about the soul that I seem to have lost due to love and loving ignoring the costs
about sacrifices and lies, and lies and lies. About all the times that I just wished she would die.
I write about the facts and then I bend the truth I write about her eyes but their brown not blue.
I change the meaning to enhance the rhyme,
Always misleading so I can buy myself time.
If she only knew how many truths I have wrote and never showed for fear of being alone she would slam the door or hang up the phone and she would wish that shed never heard of poems.
So when she asked, I couldnt help but laugh, I knew Id have to lie to avoid the aftermath.
I shrugged it all off like I have learned to do and said its just because I cant define you what can I do? I cant tell the truth? That shes more worn out than a good will suit. That everyone knows that shes worse than bad news. With a cocaine nose and the bullshit blues.
But how can I do that when she is wearing my clothes and looking so cute with that ring in her nose? No, I have think about what I stand to lose. If shes used to being a user she can get used to being used.

But theres no such thing as casual sex
Or love, or god or any other safe bets
Life boils down to taxes then death.
So Im going to get mine till theres nothing left

And even now her name will remain anonymous because she could never be monogamous and her girlfriend might have some problems with us meeting to fuck while shes working at wally world mopping puke up.
And I felt a little vomit rise up in my throat as I repeated those lines just after I wrote em, and I made a scratchy noise like an old school modem while my fingers kept typing to keep the beat going.
Close my eyes, and take a deep breath, let out a long sigh and light a cigarette, I havent met a bad idea that I havent tried yet but this one is as bad as it gets. Cuz this idea has thighs with smooth skin and the devils in her eyes and her words are shit.
She only asks me why I dont write when her and the girlfriend get into a fight the rest of the time Im home all alone cursing her name and her turned off phone.
But there is no need for her to know until my bags are packed and Im ready to go and never come back. Cuz as long as we both live in Tennessee I know Ill get laid every other week.
And the sex itself is the source of the struggle, cuz it feels like love but I know its just trouble, and the worse she treats me the better it feels to go so deep that she screams and squeals and when its all over and she asks whats wrong Ill just laugh say nothing my darling
And This is the arrangement that we have made, she ruins my life and I get laid is that so different from what youre loves like take another look are you living my life?


Because theres no such thing as casual sex
Or love, or god or any other safe bets
Life boils down to taxes then death.
So Im going to get mine till theres nothing left
But theres no such thing as casual sex
Or love, or god or any other safe bets
Life boils down to taxes then death.
So Im going to get mine till theres nothing left