Wednesday, June 17, 2009

This is for holes punched in walls due to passion,
Or for being given up on like last Fall's fashion.

We are the trees that don't change colors.
We are the sidewalks with initials forever carved.
We are the words at the tip of your tongue.
We are the future.
(and this world is fucked.)

PS. You've ruined all of my favorite songs.

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