tongue—tied and oh, so squeamish, you never fell in love.

you're the one that i need, i'm the one that you loathe.

talk nonsense, but talk your own nonsense, and i'll kiss you for it. to go wrong in one's own way is better than to go right in someone else's.

tell  me  how  all  this,  and  love  too,  will  ruin  us.

god says: "which one of you fuckers can get to me first?"

unlearning the weight of your name

i am not god. i do not forgive.

just the two of us? / do we need any more?