How can you miss something you never knew for certain?
Maybe it's the thrill of searching for something worth making a mess of. Nobody seems worth it past the surface, these days. I'm the brand of picky usually reserved for casting couches. Writing off written confession, reading in written digression.
I swear I understand you. I saw you stare. Never say never, but never say when. I'm worse at heeding my own advice than my pride would ever let on. We have this in common. We'd be the kind of toxic you hate in cheesy pop music.
I've been told I'm infectious, and I've grown far too honest to demand a correction. Fives hands in the sky; I'm the one that's left to be brought down unlaced. I prefer it that way, open-palmed and prepared for something I have to reach for, leap for. Jackpot over scratch-off. I need someone poor. Someone with nothing more than a suit, sustenance, and a dollar they'd rather gamble than invest. I don't believe anything's worthwhile without chances.
Most days, I miss speaking without spitting out profanity. I miss days before everything revolved around where we place our hands. Is there anyone left to get lost with? Lie back on the grass, loosen grip, and sleep under sunshine. Summer stings, and I'm anxious for its colors.
Hurry up, I hate this season. Pink and red color prominence; I'd rather let them trace patterns in my easily-candied eyes. I call the finest hearts home.
My intentions have never been so honest.
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