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handle with care.i got your box in the mail. the one with allthe stamps. it was bent and torn and tapedup again. so you've sent me your love? withone simple instruction: handle with care. --i don't think i can manage two hearts at once.so i'll have to give you mine. i hope you don'tmind. it's a little bruised and broken. but ithink it works just as well. --you have this idea that my hands are beautifulenough to hold yours. well my rose colored glassesmust have broke. but you are still the sad and lovelyboy with the bright and passionate mouth.
sweet releaseit didnt matter that you were grasping my limbs and folding them away as the water swept up over my face again. that was one more time than i could remember where i almost couldnt breath, liquid like ice filling up my lungs before you pulled me up again. pulling me close and holding me to your warm chest.im sorry, im sorry you would whisper. and i would always forgive you, with a cough and water spilling from my lips, tears springing to my eyes.and then down again.the cold was always the first shock. and then after the fear shrank away, there was only the empty numbness creeping through my body, and your face looking down on me. and me looking up at your face.and then the swirls of water would melt with the color of your skin, and your phantom eyes would burn into my mind. my eyelids would begin to close, eyelashes frozen against my cheek. and nothing but the last thing i heard would play as a hollow sound inside my head.im sorry, im
friday night ghostsyour lips touch my lipsand your fingerscold iron barson my neck.our hearts are the noisethe television fuzzwhite soundechoing in my bedroom.i have the empty feelingof a frigid nightlighting gone somewherebeyond the line of sight.were friday night ghostsmade of dissipating vaporsin the wind, in the wind.lets split open our heartson the hardwood floorand count every saved up cent.cause now i dont feellike feeling any moresunshine on my face.