jared

Your testamentis written here,not for the causethat I want to please youbut because I’m pleasedto want you. Indelible inktattooed into myveins, floodedwith the permanence ofyour love not to bring pain,only […]

I can remember where we were, but only because the picture tells me so. Not the exact moment— but memory serves me, over easy cold breakfast conversations. Playing games on

The extent of our loveis a scrapbookdedicatedto that which gathering dust uponthe shelfsafely secreted awaywhere the grandkidscan’t find itbecause you’re ashamedto show them. Washed up, washed outsepia tonesand blackand white

Tumble weeds whisperacross the barren landscapes of my heart.The ghost town stands empty,save that last lone leperholding on with dear lifepulling up that poisonous patch of devil grass.Wind whipping throughthe

Last Time We Talked He may be luckyto have you,but somewhere out therethere’s somebodyjust as luckyto be rid of you. Re-gifting No timelike the presentto present yourselfto the world Tied

Once hated this song,though upon hearing it detached,out of context,and without desire, things look different from the other side.

You weren’t aroundto help me eat,so I had to go it alone. No one to push mebut myself. Using the fine Chinaloosening the beltbellying up to the tableand using the