We were never tragedies. We were emergencies. You go ahead, call 9-1-1. Tell them I'm havin' a fantastic time.
Make love to me like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
You're a free-standing landing pad held together by choir claps.
...others, with halos shaped like rollercoasters you'd stand in line to ride twice.
There is a point when tears don't work to wash things away anymore. Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers.
Even good hearts know how to turn bad touch and genocide into clichés just to make room for more comfort.