January 21, 2010 § 3 Comments

Dear Jon Bon Jovi, I hate you. Not because your jeans are too tight or because your voice sounds like too often used steel wool rubbed too vigorously on the bottom of a blackened pot. I hate you because amidst the crazy hair, too big and too white teeth and annoyingly lengthy guitar solos, you see into my weakness. On my 3am crying binges, curled up on the floor, a bottle of Jack and a box of tissues beside me, yours is the voice I hear in my head. I may not be able to lie down with you on a bed of roses (back problems, need solid support) and I need my personal space too much to let you be as close to me as the holy ghost is. And tell me, how the hell does one french kiss the morning exactly? But yeah, I’ve had those days when I wake up feeling like I’ve got a bottle of vodka lodged in my head and a marching band is keeping time in my brain. And if there’s one thing I can’t agree with you more it’s that I don’t have to be alone to know I’m lonely. Now that that’s sorted, do me a favor. On my next sleepless, tear-filled early morning, know that I raise my glass to you and just shut up.

You really have to do something about that ‘do.

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§ 3 Responses to OverFlowered

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