What I rly wanna say is
I’m sore from yoga
And I wanna fuck like
The black hole I’m
Painting into the palm
Of our mismatch eyesStop not-readin me O'Hara
Stop singin like we fell
In love on the missed connection
Part of the highway
Where there is a broken chair
And hidden antlersYou will puke and that’s okay
I’ve been there
n I know how sweet the blood is
I know I’m an ulcer on the idea
Of heresy and romance but
Isn’t love the whole point
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