Who am I to say
the grass was
ever greener where my own feet
struck on the earth? And that the
fields they seemed much neater
on my side of the fence; and who
am I to question why you took the
path you took? And who the fuck
am I to open this closed book?
But the pages just keep turning
and my pen just won't dry, but my
eyes they won't stop burning and
yet you still have no reply.
5 faves · May 31, 2011 12:13am