Peach Blush Gives You That Sun Kissed Glow...When Blended Properly

...........

How could you be so audacious?
Bolder than cleavage, you must be.
This is outrageous!
It took more than willpower to deal with your shit, it took heart, dedication, and ballet shoes to make it all look so graceful!
How I managed to suck those tears right back in my sockets I'll ever know.
Whenever that invisible ghost of courage possessed me, I haven't the slightest idea.
But I stood above you and I lifted you into the heaven as easily as a bodybuilder would his weights.
And I tossed you frisbee far, hoping that you'd fall into the arms of another who would never want to return the pass.
I knew it wasn't going to last.
The arguments were once words and soon became puzzles and my brain was not equipped to solve them.
Your sweet kisses soon burned like bullets and I had no gun to revolve them...back into your pores
Mines were broad and wide, open sores that could no longer differentiate the difference between love and hate because it all made my skin crawl.
And bleed, and peel, and chafe all over the bathroom floor.
Sometimes I wish I had the balls to blade my blood all over the walls, but I could never get the razor steady to make a sharp cut...you see I was a perfectonist and the scar couldn't be jagged
But I guess since my heart can't be seen from the outside I didn't worry much about its weary shape
Decaying like the food in Buster Baxter's locker. Bunny ears filled with wax mouth full of plaque and clothes full of static cling.
You were nothing but a magic trick performed wrong. Your face and dick was there but I removed the center box and your heart was gone.
And I wasn't the one who stole it because I had an alibi: I was watching Trapped in the Closet.
I wasn't enjoying it because you had a complexion just like R.'s and I kept checking my room to make sure you weren't hiding with a cigar. Singing stories about hicks and dicks and midgets trapped in closets...
But you weren't there.
Damn I was paranoid.
But maybe sometimes I wish instead of just breaking up you succumbed to an early death.
So I could have a grave to visit and lay down roses and kick the ants off your tombstone. Sit by your birthdate in sunny dresses and masturbate to the sound of the crickets in the late night because I knew you would love the spontaneity.
But God wouldn't have liked that.
So I guess that wouldn't have occurred.
But since you were dead you would have read my thoughts and would have smiled at my idea without me physically carrying out.
That's why I like the dead.
They can read your mind.
So die.
So you can read mines.
And realize I had not one intention of hurting you purposely.
And I wish I could still call you on the latenight after a bad dream and you'd soothe me to sleep.
And I really do miss you. And that ounce of love I put in your heart's account is still in the safebox.
Take if out and lube yourself up with me and feel me sting your skin (to let you know it's working)....
But since my calls have been ignored and my messages have gone unanswered...
Just die already.