I want to pull his hair
I want to stand beside him and compare our heights
His bed may not be so cold
but I'm not throwing rocks at night.
I want to feast on him
I want to cut him open and touch inside
and since you went and left town,
I'm not sure what's wrong or right.
so I'll talk to you later.
My red hands are a little tied.
love me
- dolly at school
- She was Lo. Plain Lo in the morning. Standing five foot two in one sock. She smoked in her car and sang to herself. She wrote songs in her head when you took her on dates. She was jazz. She was the blues. She was high. She was not an artist, but she was good at a few things. That's why they still call her. And you should keep reading.
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