voicemail-poetry

running down corridors shaped like arteries and veins there's a chronicle of girls on shuffle and traffic lights blinking while pretty boys blink at you from the sidelines, saying without words that they think you're something else altogether, screaming with their eyes, their silent lips scream kiss me. you've been the kind of attractive that had them running into walls because they were looking the wrong way, oh. and the only people you are comfortable around are the girls because you've always belonged in a nail-polish squad. your sense of aesthetic works in your favour when shopping for cardigans and new beginnings. you've been the ki