she never would be, the places she oughtta

she said she was in love with dying. the very thought of a vacation
said she was never so poetic
as the moment wore on.
she was quiet like fire
Her face was a mess and she screamed out "God I'm tired of thinking," because she forgot that I was near. Her feelings were a shot gun that she would try out and her face was a language she wanted to learn but couldn't bring herself to look in the mirror.
"Maybe I'm just damn scared," she thought and told me that she fell in love like she was comitted
to accidents and weather, and
she couldn't tell me why or how or what she was exactly trying to say. I didn't catch her name but she was in a state of perplexion like her hair was brown and
her stance was
unsettled.

"She never was, the places she oughtta, but that doesn't stop her."
-Spoon


I carry flashcards to remember who I am.