Red lipstick on 'cause he fancies the classic
Compared to him, you're the epitome of basic
Trying to get to him is survival of the fittest
Clad in leather jacket, you know he's the baddest
Loving him is like drowning in quicksand
Doesn't really matter, he calls you "his hurricane"
Those sad eyes better not be hiding white lies
Even if they do, you're way too good at goodbyes
He has a long history of flings
'cause he just hates "a girl who clings"
So what if I'm losing my damn mind
It's all good as long as he's mine
YOU ARE READING
Tulis or Write?
PoetryOf love, hate, happiness and sadness. Sometimes, a broken heart is the best thing that could happen to a writer. A process of healing by writing amateur poems and short stories.
