the waiting room

"..My poor heart is sentimental/Not made of wood..."

Don't do what i think you're gonna do. Wait, don't say you've already done it. Tell me something lovely first. Let me cry before you see my face again. I can feel you holding on. I hear you straining through the air between us...

Everything's rushing; ain't shit still.

I begged to slow down before we got drunk. Remember?

Stagger stagger bitch...lol...I'm such a pushover...

don't worry, i'll be fine.