I don’t know anything for sure except that I don’t know anything for sure.
I know that I love outside my class, and that the emptiness of introversion has filled me with an unspeakable longing of being.
I feel separate, and impossible.
I feel like too much, and not enough.
I need space and closeness and a spanking and two bits worth of advice from someone who understands my lust and greed.
I know that nobody else sees how smart I am and that nobody else knows how stupid I can be.
I breathe in the smoke of make-believe and beg of the universe for just one taste of those lips before I die inside.
I don’t know anything for sure, except I want to be a girl that a man like you could love.
I want to be a girl who doesn’t cry for unrequited emotion and doesn’t waste time on silly ventures that make time pass easier alone.
I want to give myself over to the universe and trust that someone else can take your place.
I don’t suppose it’s possible that all the world has gone insane except you and me.
I don’t dream of you anymore;
I’ve forgotten how to dream.