Pop. Secret. Burned.

She's got berry breath.
Oh yeah, oh yeah.
She scares me to death.
Oh yeah, oh yeah.

I feel myself needing to writing, needing to express something that isn't coming. I went for sushi today and held a hand that didn't want to be held. I kissed a mouth as it said "someone might see." I'm a dirty little secret and I should be okay with this. She won't have me any other way or she won't have me at all. I need to remind myself.

It's not really that serious, though,
Flavor of the month, though,
I'll inspire,
I'll grow old.
She'll grow tired,
She'll grow cold.
And I'll burn away all the string that holds me together and the insides will spill out on the sidewalk again.