You're so hot.
You got the last shot.
You crime, you dine, you shine, you swine.
You're so cold.
You've got the gold.
You wake, you shake, you make, you create.
You've got nothing on me
You've only got
Something on yourself.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...