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is good for what ails you
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Bon Idee
Don’t tell your mother that you are afraid
Don’t tell your lover that your heart might break
Don’t tell your gods that you no longer believe
Because as soon as you say it out
Loud they will leave you
And you will miss them oh so bad
And you will wait for their return
And you will wish they were you own
But gods that have left you will never grace your home
She’s the kind of girl who’ll smash herself down in the night
She’s the kind of girl who’ll fracture her mind til it’s light
She’ll break her own heart, and you know she’ll break your heart too
So darling, let go of her hand
She’s been skipping days, spilling her drinks in the sink
and you know, she’s never coming home, never coming home again
but when when when she opens her eyes eyes eyes
beyond the chipping paint through the windowpane
lies lies lies
her patron saint, broken and lame
and absolutely insane for learning that true love exists
so darling, let go of her hand
you’ll be to blame for this game
and learning that true love exists
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This is how it works: you're young until you're not, you love until you don't, you try until you can't, you laugh until you cry, cry until you laugh, and everyone must breathe until their dying breath.
No this is how it works: you appear inside yourself and take the thing you like and try to love the things you took. And then you take that love you made and stick it into some, someone else's heart pumpin' someone else's blood and walkin' arm and arm, you hope it don't get harmed, but even if it does, you'd just do it all again
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