Ivy: Well the cross makes me think of death, but the ivy is life. Sort of the tragic and hopeful you know.

You're so . . .

Maybe it's love and not luck, she's a strange kind girl, it's weird how she sticks by you through everything. And you too, you're a strange kinda guy. 

Funny thing.
You don't notice what you do to her until she does it back to you, and still even then, you don't realise that she's copying you, mocking maybe. But when she does it, you don't feel good, but funny how you expect it to be okay when you do it. 
Because you're a strange kinda guy.
Everyone else would get it by now, but you're a strange kinda guy.

She's a strange kinda girl too. It's almost like everything bothers her, everything. 
Even you.
She even bothers herself.

She says, "The mind can be a very dangerous place to decompose in, or hide in, it can be a dangerous place or a comforting place".
That's where everything goes when you can't or don't want to listen to her, those complex feelings, seemingly about nothing, seemingly small and insignificant to you and seemingly meaningless. Well, they mean a lot to her and you don't seem to give a flying, crawling, slithering fuck.

What she does is poetry, what you is poetry. Someone isn't reading it, understanding it or hearing it.
It's adding to the manure, the shit basically in the mind that is decomposing these things, all the good things, all the bad, just decomposing into nothingness because the fuck that you give needs to crawl up to you and bite you, or fly into your eye for you to realise that these things exist, for you to listen to and understand this poetry.

But she's a strange kinda girl, how can she expect someone to just listen and understand? 
Not the fact that she does with you, your nameless friends, your homies, your 'other friends' all nameless, all the stories about them in riddles, omissions and then air. It's probably not because she can listen to and understand all of that, somehow.

She's probably a mermaid, sea creature, and you're a strange kinda guy who thinks she just swims and combs her hair with a fork, selfish enough to ask for you to swim with her. 

She's a strange kinda girl, you're a strange kinda guy, but she's much stranger than you are.
Stranger.
Stranger who bears all, gives all, accepts all and gets the same from you when you feel like it.

All the water from this mermaid pours out and out and out and sometimes she wishes she was a star fish in your life instead of a mermaid. A star fish but not a shelfish, not even a mermaid, but mermaids can talk, unfortunately . . . And humans? We feel too much, some of us.

Ivy: Well the cross makes me think of death, but the ivy is life. Sort of the tragic and hopeful you know.

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