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And then, there was none.

Tell me it's a bad idea to get flames tattooed on my left wrist.

Tell me it's all okay, and it wasn't a collector calling my house, wanting money I don't have.

Tell me you'll be here tomorrow, and I can take one suitcase, and there's room for Cosmo.

Tell me you have air conditioning, and you'll make it 50 degrees in the house so we can hide under blankets, and pretend it's Winter.

Tell me you don't mind the cigarette smoke, and that you don't think I smoke too much, since I only have 11 months left.

Tell me it's alright to miss my mom, I don't have to grow up.

Tell me I can take 4 Advil, and be alive, just to get through the cramps and the urge to rip out all of my productive organs.

Tell me you'll take my car to the mechanic, so I will not be taken for $400 dollars just because I'm a girl.

Tell me you don't mind the piles of books in my room, piles of CD's in my car, piles of paper stacked on my dresser.

Tell me there's a place with a garden, and shade, with a sprinkler.

Tell me he's not coming. He's never coming. Tell me that, 'cause I keep forgetting.

9:53 p.m. - 2003-06-27


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