My eyes are heavy from the things they have seen

Let me dream...

My head holds no heaven

I think my attachment style all began when my mother ran away from home that one time.

Or maybe it was coming home from Christmas to find her drowning in codeine

I've never been the same since.

My need for another human died a long time ago

You learn to be lonely once you've spent to many nights expecting a stranger to return home

The same love never comes twice

History too holds space in the present

We kiss at a party just as everyone else does but it's as if two people had never touched before

We sit at a local coffee shop and it's like half the people speaking have something to prove, the other half deadly silence

Much like our dead reflections in the newspaper. None of this ever talked about but we know

Nothing is queeer than quiet understanding

Except maybe survival

Still We wake up beside eachother and find I've stolen the blanket again in our uncluttered apartment

This is enough to forget about our existence

For awhile

Nothing is queerer than quiet understanding...

Except  maybe  survival