I want to go to places you've never been,
and look at idiots who forgot their sins.
Then, I'll walk on dark pebbles,
each step, cussing;
To ask myself only one question: Will I die believing?
Perhaps it would be rude to say that you won't care;
So this is just a gesture of me being civil.
I could not possibly be what your mind made me out to be,
because an opinion to sum up my entire ever-changing life is just blatantly crude;
But at least you're making perceptions,
so that makes both of us.
Sometimes I'm sick in the head. I think about things in absurdly detailed fashion, which is, quite frankly, daunting even for me;
And sometimes, I'm the girl at the club, who is danci
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