I sorta kind of love you. No. Even when your hate is green. Even when you're screaming mean--cutting wrists and slashing tires. I want purple tire ice cream with the pink moss topping. There's no such thing? I don't exist either, at least not anymore. And If I'm wasting all of your precious, precious time -- then shove off. Leave. Go. I sorta kind of love you. No. Even though you're an ass, even in your expansion of mass. I walked a mile today and went a centimeter. I love you from the bottom of my heart, and the bottom of the toilet bowl as I try to purge myself--of you. It floats to the top always. I sorta kind of love you. No. Even when your hate is seen--throwing quarters and throwing me. No matter what you do, I'll let you in, let you in because I think I love you. Now hit me.
-posted by Nobius 1:01 AM 