u wake up on christmas morning and go downstairs, full of excitement. somebody is stealing all of your christmas presents. it is jesus. “its my birthday, not yours” he hisses menacingly, then runs away with all your gifts in his arms
We’ll say we’ll meet up in some hotel room, be it fancy or pay by the hour, and we’ll comfort each other like we used to in our time, you’ll say it’ll be just like the old days but it won’t be the fucking old days no it won’t be the fucking old days, only now with our broken parts, our overused and torn up pieces. Will it be better than before? Will it be better than before?