thijs

About me:




im cool weed addict

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I wanted to give you the best of me. But when that wasn't enough, You began unraveling my love like a tangled shoelace, Like something that needed correcting. Your lap became my operating table as you dissect every bit of kindness and goodness Until I was a bloody mess in your lap. I wonder why my hands are stained red and yours are clean, I don't think it will wash out and I don't think you'll want to hold my hand anymore. You tell me I complain too much as I gasp for air, You say I'm too negative as you cover my mouth with your hand. You can trick yourself into thinking you're still a good man, But I can't breathe, you can. I feel you reach in me, rearranging, Organizing, correcting, taking. I don't like it, but if it's what you want I'll live with it in the hope that one day it will be exchanging. I'll paint you a triptych when you're done, I'm not an artist but I could be for you I'm not a poet but you're still my muse I'd do anything, I wonder if you knew. But I can't get up now you're gone, so I guess I'm not an artist and I'll never be a poet and I think I did too much. You're done so go clean your knife I'm not what you want and I'm not who I was. - The Knife, Dead Calm

Who I'd like to meet:

your mom (and equally as cool people)