He's Just Not That In Love With You
Have you ever felt the broken guitar string, and the way it slices veins? The words
that
slither from your lips cut and make me bleed just the same. As it slips into your
mouth
you savour every droplet on your many tongues. Before I turn to leave, you kiss
my wound
and breathe smokeless love into my lungs.
You’re just not it love with me, but its not something I claimed to be. I hate to hear
the girls that scream, “he’s just not that in love with, just not that in love with you.
Go on sweetie, find someone new.”
Everything I saw him touch turned to glass and cracked under his weight. Broken
promises
swung under his words that we’d meet again by fate. I loved him for his messy
hair, the
words that spilled from his mouth, he was my anarchist. I should have known it
could
never last when I tasted poison on his kiss.
You’re just not it love with me, but its not something I claimed to be. I hate to hear
the girls that scream, “he’s just not that in love with, just not that in love with you.
Go on sweetie, find someone new.”
You love from your oleander heart, tainted by your pastel poison. I wish someone
had
warned of the pain before I let it begin. Dripping into my bloodstream is the pulse
of
my regrets. I hate the day you said good bye, but I know I’ll never forget.
You’re just not it love with me, but its not something I claimed to be. I hate to hear
the girls that scream, “he’s just not that in love with, just not that in love with you.
Go on sweetie, find someone new.”
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