socialcoma

he pulled me out my work last night. his breath smelled of skyy vodka, and his eyes were red.

"michelle, i want you to be the mother of my children..
i love you so much it hurts me heart, and i feel like there's no space for the love i have for you.."

and she looks up to him, which is quite a distance, since they'd measured the distance between themselves just a few hours ago, it'd come about a whole head in difference. she thought about crying, but the fact that he was drunk stopped her.

the soldiers of doubt broke down her wall, and told her that he was too wasted to be telling the wonderful truth. again the crutches of perfect love and freedom.

why can't i just fuckin relax?