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Description
i wrote a poem for you on my wrist;
you should've read it while you had the chance
but you never pay attention;
there's always something better on tv.

i wish i was an actor.

tragedy looks good on me;
it brings out the colour in my eyes.
i can memorize the lines i'd say to you,
but they'd come out as an aside,
and you don't like to read.

how can i spell it out for you?

the writing's already dry;
maroon, and randomly spattered.
my intentions stained on your canvas.
paint me up like christ, and hang me on your wall.

red is your colour.

it's always looked good on you;
it brings out the colour in your eyes.
your passion bleeds for others.
what's wrong with bleeding for me?

this is not about you.

you've always been selfish,
now it's my turn.
fuck you for letting me love you,
hating you was hard enough.

Description
i wrote a poem for you on my wrist;
you should've read it while you had the chance
but you never pay attention;
there's always something better on tv.

i wish i was an actor.

tragedy looks good on me;
it brings out the colour in my eyes.
i can memorize the lines i'd say to you,
but they'd come out as an aside,
and you don't like to read.

how can i spell it out for you?

the writing's already dry;
maroon, and randomly spattered.
my intentions stained on your canvas.
paint me up like christ, and hang me on your wall.

red is your colour.

it's always looked good on you;
it brings out the colour in your eyes.
your passion bleeds for others.
what's wrong with bleeding for me?

this is not about you.

you've always been selfish,
now it's my turn.
fuck you for letting me love you,
hating you was hard enough.