monday midnight emo-ness

When the clock strikes twelve, and the sun is down,
My table lamps light makes my mother frown.
Curse this time inspiration comes around,
My pencil and breathing's the only sound.


I don't expect to kiss your lips.
It's so precious i'll take in sips.
Though i'm young, the brink of youth,
I think sex for love is uncouth.
I'll still offer to hold your bag,
After your hair greys and skin sag.

No more "I"s. This is for you.

If my life's a song,
You are my rhythm.
Without you, this life,
Cannot prolong...