I’m not a ballerina, it’s all a misdemeanor.
Moderacy is my enemy.
My fingers have replaced my spine so my back cracks a lot more often and now you have the power to bend me over backwards. But please don’t.
When my nails press into my palms they look like little crescent moons surrounded by veins of ropes miles long that let me hold you like a balloon.
When the heat kicks on it gets colder,
The enemy is not just a rock, it’s a boulder.
Man, I wish I was as bold.
Criminals wear gloves to cover their tracks but my fingers have left trains on everything they have touched.
I’m running away from the gunman behind me,
So trust me,
I know what it’s like to sweat bullets.
Don’t be fooled by the snow on my eyelids,
Each time I blink every flake commits suicide.
I was honest until you came along.