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That Girl
| >I feel special.
>But this girl has laid on the chests of the rest of the boys before.
>When the sun leaves, and the stars come around, she leaves from her spot on my chest to another room for the night.
>She was the group thot. She chose me last and it didn't mean anything special.
>still, I had never felt it before, and never felt it since. It is cold and the yearning for the memory only brings me melancholy.
| >The green light of my pen goes out. The battery is finished charging. I disconnect it, lead it to my mouth, and inhale. I no longer feel the fuzzy buzz I used to.
>Exhale. I remember her hair. It was brown and long and frizzy and the freckles on her face were cute.
>I think of what could have happened. I yearn for the warmth it gave me back then.
| shut the fuck up poemfag
| >implying
There's no boys on danger/u/. Get over yourself.
Also melancholy is just a part of life. Drugs just make it worse.
| 3 am be like
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| >There is a girl. Her head lies on my chest and I think about the fuzzy future.
>I run my hand through her hair and consciously breathe. The air rises in my chest rather than my belly.
>My insecurities don't disappear, rather, they are masked in a veil of poor masculinity. But that doesn't matter now.
>There is a girl, and her head lies on my chest.
>I look out the window. The sun is setting. The colors of autumn are up there in the sky. It is warm on this bed.