Run on toward a brand new sun.
Move forward. Stop for no one.
Drop from clouds and hit the ground.
Land on your feet in full-blown sprint.

Slide into a brand new scene.
Send that dance floor spinning.
Flinging spit in every direction.
Hitting sheep of plasticine.

This race never ends,
but I'll be ****** if we're not winning.

Climb the ladder to dive again.
The water's warm and waiting.
Pity those stuck indecision.
They'd might as well be *******.

Fly through town while howling loud.
Stick out in crowds of wolves.
The wild ones are homeless now -
forced out of their woods.

I'm not one for promises,
but I'll be ****** if we're not making good.

Spiral in then pinch the seams.
Sealed inside infinity.
Circle round the center like sharks in bloodly seas:
Recyclers of misplaced energy.

Drink it up.
Blast that song.
Crack concrete.
Run on.

Run on.

What I told you yesterday had an impact on tonight.
Combined with what I said today makes it kind of frightening.
I've been extra-sensitive to coincidences lately.
My mind readily noticing when irony strikes.

If I've told you twice, then I've might as well told you a thousand times:
my friends are not good people,
and I'm not very nice,
So take a hike.

What I said two thousand years ago just echoed back tonight.
Recalled saying it just yesterday,
back in a different life:
My friends are all I have,
and they make me feel alright,
so if you've got a problem then go and take a hike.

Ninety million years ago,
dinosaurs roamed the earth.
The bulky massive precursors
to all of my friends' births.
They say a man can be judged by the company he keeps,
and these are all just metaphors,
but we've got claws and jagged teeth,
so come and get yours.

I spend my time with predators
learning to prey on the weak.
They accept me because I know all of their secrets
in a language I've spent two-hundred million years learning how to speak.

I've been extra-sensitive to coincidences lately,
like how all of my friends have such thick skin.
I suppose it's got something to do with my past lives,
the way they let me in.

I said it yesterday and I'll say it again.
Stegosaurus never stood a chance against Tyrannosaurus.
A well known fact amongst my friends;
Believers of evolution and survival of the fittest.
One day we'll rule the earth again.

Everything's alright.
I mean, I still act like a **** sometimes
and wake up screaming in the middle of the night,
but that's just a part of life.
Am I right?

Even if I'm wrong.
Even if I act out and commit crimes
just to feel a rush.
We dream of what we might be and do what we must.
I'm just saying,
you've got nothing to do with it.
I've got defense mechanisms to deal with my defense mechanisms.
It's just a part of life.
Am I right?

I'll go to great lengths to avoid a fight.
It's hardly ever worth it.
Justified or not,
punches make for a rough night.
Nothing but bruises to show for it.
Just another part of life.
Kind of silly,
am I right?

Let's forgo the *******.
Been there and done that.
We've both got nothing to show for it,
but regrets and things we wish we could take back.
Just another part of life.
Am I right?
You don't have to agree,
just believe that everything will be alright.

The part of me that knows what he's doing is hardly ever there.
Only showing up after mistakes are made.
Saying **** like: "Whatever. What do you care?"
*******, me. **** me, I swear.
You just hang back and pass judgement.
It's not fair.

You should be here helping to deal with these things,
instead of leaving me all alone.
If only you could understand.
You never will.
You live in objective, third-person, meta neverland.

It must be convenient not to feel anything,
but I resent the emptiness.
Forgive me for trying to fill that void with something.
I'm sorry if that makes us enemies.
For the record, I've tried everything to make it easy.

The part of me that knows what he's doing is always condescending.
He thinks my life's a joke,
he thinks that I'm pretending.
I say "**** that" and do what I want.
Even mistakes can have a positive way of working themselves out -
With or without your help.

I know that I can count on your abandon.
You only show up when I'm all put out.
To carry me through the ******* -
I suppose I ought to be thankful for it.

You'd **** well better,
you melodramatic fool.
Everything I do is for you.
It kills me to see you waste it on such senseless endeavors.
What are you?
Some sort of emo Dr. Seuss?
Nobody cares.
You use writing as a way of escape.
We've got a doctor's appointment tomorrow (because of you, thanks).
I wish you wouldn't tie me to your leg whenever you drown yourself in   sorrow.

The part of me that knows what he's doing is always ******* things up,
but I'll bet he'd say the same about me.
God forbid we work together
to find some sort of harmony.

Lover of Disney.
Connoisseur of fairy tales.
With stories of lonely-girl-turned-princess
and wooden boys swallowed by whales
(just longing to be real).
Ever a believer in Happily Ever After.

I thought I could be your disaster.

I raged.
Hurricane gales with lightning and thunder.
Earthquakes and landslides.
Stormed into a blunder.

I thought you were frail,
but you're corrugated steel.
A bastion, a bulwark; impregnable.
A stronghold made up of shining white stone.

When the rampage was over,
the only foundation destroyed was my own.

I think of your poems when I'm in a crowd.
I memorize your lines and recite them out loud
into a sea of unsuspecting faces,
so that they fall in love with words, like I did yours;
strung together by the wisdom of your golden graces.

I want to bask in the glory of sharing your story,
and celebrate tonight in honor of you.
If I make your poetry a part of my life,
can I become a part of yours too?

I will tell you of their laughter and smiles.
How they wept, danced, rejoiced -
how the whole crowd went wild.

I want you to hear of their praises because I think you're divine.
I'll spend the rest of my days writing odes of thanks.
Forever indebted to you and your kind
for letting your words become mine.

Most definitely, they know what it is.
Even without knowing.
Don't you see?
That's the beauty of it.
Ignorance is bliss.
I could die right now and be fine with it.

Scream loud as possible into a freshly washed pillow still soaked with dreams of snakes and her face and friends who don't give a ****.
Raging against self-inflicted wounds wrought by the subconscious.
Two weeks later and infested again.
Muffled yells at half-volume to deal with it.
Manifested from fears like that kid from my nightmare last year with the macaroni in his hair.
I'm still haunted by it.
Feel that wrench in the stomach like an egg-beater twisting my guts.
Scream as loud as I can into a pillow twice-washed.

Punch the walls, feed the host, burn the demons, starve the ghost.
Scream without a filter and break all the windows.

Sleeping again but it never ends; never stops, never quits or gives in.
Always creeping below the surface.
What did I do to deserve this?
Screaming into a pillow thrice-washed.
Laugh at the clock and make friends with the dark.

Burn the walls, starve the host, please the demons, feed the ghost.
Bleeding from a punch to the window.
Self-inflicted ruin to appease the subconscious.
Scream as loud as you can into a wet pillow.

There's a feeling that I get
when everything's fallen to pieces.
Suddenly it all makes sense.
Old theory's busted.
Time to come up with a new thesis.

I'll state that I know nothing
but my own experiences.

She told me a fanciful story of woe.
I could relate.
"It's like suffocating, you know?"

Turns out that my ruling planet is Venus.
Laughter.
"That must be why you're so effeminate!"
"Stop. Whatever. Everyone knows that astrology is *******."
"Maybe so, but it's still fascinating."

I'm more interested in how we'd fit,
but you've made your point.
Really, it is though.

Her feline inspired lines are amongst the best,
but she's still a cat lady, nonetheless.

A hermit's heart may weigh lighter than the feather,
but he's spent all his days longing for something better.

The lonely are often alone by choice -
that's the way it seems to me, at least.
I'll take to writing and forgo my voice;
plan it out while I walk down lonesome streets.

One look.
A stare.
That's how this all began.
To end it,
I swear:
I'll never look at you again.

I want to get inside your head.
(The deepest part of your bed)

I want to crawl under your skin.
(The driving force to your sins)

I want to haunt all of your dreams.
(So you'll never forget me)

I want to always be there.
(So I'll know that you're okay)
You don't have to be scared.
(Just believe in what I say)

How could I have thought that there was anything to gain from you?
All you've ever done is remind me of the things I lost.

He's got a flair for the ironic,
and a stare that's sardonic,
with an attitude that clearly puts people off.
He's got a problem with getting turned on
by the things he thinks are wrong,
and he does it all to better relate to the lyrics of a song.
Attempting to live a literary lifestyle,
that kid is some kind of wild.
He's got soulful eyes,
but I don't trust his smile.
Not the kind of story I like to read.
Surely, he's trouble.
That one's a bad seed.

It starts with curiosity;
fascination,
admiration,
affixation.
Excitement and expectation.
Fondly falling for flutterings.
Paying too much attention to alterations.
Getting hung up on fluctuations.

It turns into frustration.
Feelings of inadequacy.
Indignation.
Self-abasement.
Fear and loathing.
Dread.

Followed by annoyance.
Re-evaluation.
Revulsion.
Remembering what's important.

It ends with indifference;
over it.
Free again,
thank goodness.

Stop it.
Just stop.
It's never really been that bad.
From the way you carry on,
I've got it in my head:
You're only happy when you're sad.

I can feel it in my bones.
I can feel it in my teeth.
Emanating from some place buried deep underneath.
I can hear it in your words.
I can taste it on your lips.
Electricity,
recharged by your kiss.
My body is a conduit.
A key tied to a kite string.
I'm thinking of every wish I've wasted on pennies never spent.
Hopes and dreams thought up then tossed.
They're all coming true tonight.
I found my way while staying lost.

Why do you only say it when you're drunk?
If you can't say it otherwise, then I'd rather you not
say it
at all
EVER!
Save your kisses and hugs.
It doesn't mean nearly as much.
It doesn't mean a thing.
Don't expect me to believe it.
You're full of ****.

Oceans deep,
and seas do swell.
How will we ever survive ourselves?

Fell into chasms devoid of light.
Provided a ladder to climb our way out.

No one ever asked for life,
but given what we've got,
we're obliged to make it right.

So send me a soul with its pieces awry.
I'll find a place for my own as I try to assemble these feelings into some sort of grace.
Break us again and I'll chalk it up to an obscure determination of fate.

I never asked for any of this.
Please send help.
Give me some bliss.
I'm drowning myself.
Come rescue me, quick.

All of my quests have left me diminished.
Leave it to me to start what I can't finish.
On to the next one to pick up the reigns.
We've only got so long before we're driven insane.

Bloodied noses.
Smeared makeup.
Reckless abandon.
Don't care where I wake up.

I danced.
I think I lost my ****.
I'm sorry you had to see that.
I'm over it.

Where'd I leave my shirt?
When did I get so harried?
Why am I covered in dirt?
Who did we bury?

panic attack.
Panic Attack!
PANIC ATTACK!!!

Foamed at the mouth.
Spat out several teeth.
Are we humans,
or animal beings?!

*****.
Swallowed it . . .
came back.
PANIC ATTACK!!!

I ate all the prettiest flowers in your garden.
Sorry about that.
I wanted to digest beauty.
Turn it to ****.
How's my breath?

***** fingernails.
Tobacco stains.
Coughs and gasps.
Phantom pains.

Who did I what?
How am I where?
Did I just now ******* . . .
fall up the stairs?
Why did you go?
I'm still wrong here.

Silly silly silly silly silly silly girl.
Don't talk to me;
your voice destroys my world.

I've been repeating rhymes since 1989.
Writing my letters backwards - still can't draw a straight line,
but I could paint you a pretty picture of a troubled prince.

I wasn't old enough at the time,
but I've been partying like it's 1999 ever since.

Doing what I can just to feel more alive,
because I've always had trouble sleeping at night,
so I look for adventure wherever I can find it.
I've gotten lost a few times but can't say that I mind it.

When the things I've picked up along the way come back to stake their claim;
I fight it.
I'll be alright.
I purge.
I writhe.
I write.

I've been recycling lines since 2009,
but getting more sleep ever since I lost my mind.
Almost two halves closer
to achieving half-remembered dreams,
but can only imagine where I'll be come 2019.

I know the best plan is to go to bed,
but waking up tomorrow just fills me with dread.
Time is an illusion, and now never ends,
but with indulgences, I can pretend
that tonight could end with some kind of punctuation.

Sum it all up within a single sentence.
Exclamations and question marks the X of the equation.
Narrated in a literary sense.
Life imitates art animating life inspired by metaphorical interpretations of unexplained phenomena.
I felt it all in a single wave of interconnected particles.

Pulled apart, but each piece responding to the other with common stimuli.
All of my atoms are secretly whispering to each other:
One day,
he is going to die.

Third round on Thursday and waiting for hearse day.
Rehearsed for this moment;
Forgot what I was gonna say.
She says it's all the same but in a different way.

"Styles are incarnations of something that stays constant."
I disagreed with it and caused an upheaval.
They said I'm no good,
I told them I'm evil.
Often the devil takes hold of my tongue.
Stringing words together in a way that feels fun:
Astonished five flowers with burgundy scents.
Fell to the floor in a fit of nonsense.
"are you okay?"
That's an understatement.
Just give me four minutes to be born again.

All these nights of "fun."
I'd gladly trade them in for quiet ones spent with you.
We could cancel all our plans with friends
to stay in bed reading-
Just us two.

It's not your fault.
It's not your fault.
It's not your fault.

I get drunk, then I get weird.
It's kind of what I do.
Sometimes,
I'm weird when I'm sober too,
but only around those who never do.
Get drunk, is what I mean.
I deal with them best when I'm hungover;
Half-awake and half-asleep.
Maybe it'll be easier when I'm older. It's true:
I'm filled with doubt and dreams,
and hung up on memories that I can't keep,
but that's nothing new.

Sleep with a few of them,
then ignore the rest.
Send late night text messages that read:
"I like hanging out with you the best."
When in their company, speak in your own language.
Get drunk and lament how no one understands you.
Cry often.
Cry all the time.
When they offer you a shoulder,
act as if it's a crime.
Push them away.
Tell them you just want to be left alone.
Don't reply to their invites.
Don't answer your phone.
Unless you're in a crowd,
then stay glued to that thing.
If they play your favorite song,
do not sing.
If they buy you a drink,
don't buy them one back.
If they give you advice,
then go on the attack.
It's easy to lose all of your friends
once you've become a sociopath.

Hear me two twelves and I've displaced my shirt.
Pollinated four elves with crystallized dirt.
Syllables betray what a symbol is worth.
Twenty metaphors plus five ****** make three kinds of birth.

Crease in a place where no grease can escape.
Forty times corduroy equals one face.
Applied nine seasons to spice up the taste.
Cardboard ate silicone then left in great haste.

I know that these words don't make any sense.
The greater cost of my mind has already been spent.
Somewhere between Easter and the beginning of Lent.
Jesus Christ threw a fit when I couldn't pay rent.

Caved in on the heads of the poor in a mine.
They'll eat it as long as it's in common time.
This line is just filler to set up the last rhyme,
but **** that ****;
I'm a nonconformist.

I always wanted to be good at everything.
Who doesn't?
I was egotistical enough to cling to the notion that one day, I would.

I dabbled in the arts.
Concocted my potions.
Ran experiments.
Made love when I could.
I calculated numbers.
Explored the ocean,

But my favorite hobby was always psychology.
My first case study being my mother.

There's nothing deeper than the depths of human emotion,
or the correlation of what one life means to another.

64,500 words have never meant so much.
Read enough books and you'll find your out of touch.
The rest of them can't know what it's worth.
They don't read enough.

I've been meaning to reread A Brave New World.
Something haunts me about the ending.
Between slaying lions for loved ones and belts of contraceptives,
I've taken on a whole new perspective.

*** without love,
and love dismissed with ***.
In high school I thought this world would be best,
but all of a sudden, it's happened too fast.

I used to relate to Bernard,
with his inferiority complex,
but now I fear I'm just like John;
one day my feet will swing from the north,
to the east,
south,
and then west.

Sadistic Queen,
how are you so mean?
Your punches are subtle,
but leave me with internal bleeding.

I love the way it stings.

Bring me another poisoned fruit from your tree.
Make my stomach ball tighter than a white-knuckled fist.
Hit me again,
you beautiful bruiser.
I've never before felt a pain such as this.

You are a *******'s *******.
Take one step closer and I swear, I'll scream.
****** ****** doesn't even hold a candle
to this twisted, grisly, nightmarish scene.

It's almost more than I can handle.
Stop it.
Stop it!
You're hurting me!

Got it.
Don't you get it?
I'm gonna overthink it,
but I've got to keep it going
while the getting is hot.

Got the feeling she don't know it.
Now I've gotta show it.
She gets the underlining meaning of everything that I have thought.

Fought through thirty memories I swear I had forgot.
She gets it and she gets me
and now these feelings just won't stop.

In her eyes I'm not reflected as anything that I am not.
Got a funny feeling that she's stealing all these lines straight from the heart.

We gave it all to be forgotten by the ones we chose to love,
but I got you and you got me:
Together,
we'll rise above.

"Everyone's dying, but we're doing it faster."

241 and I'm almost done.
Drink until the sun comes up.
Making room for two with one.
More is never quite enough.

Drain it down then get filled up.
I felt empty til you showed up.
Energized now,
I'll try my luck.

"Hey girl, do you wanna F*?"

Chances are good that she's already lost.
A reputation precedes her: strange washed-out drunk,
but those eyes are amazing;
I wrote about them once.
I can't help but want her.
She's still got her charms,
but I've my own problems to deal with
and only so many arms.

I hear them come quick
in short little fits.
Tainted bursts lifted out of lungs thick with poison.

Deal with this.
"Yo, pass that ****."
Glide through mists of green grass, red brick, and grey stone.

This is not my backyard.

"Please stay with me so I'm not all alone."
Pale fingers on a quest to make contact with skin.
"I'm so overwhelmed, I don't know where to begin."
I'm never going back home again.
It doesn't even exist.

She says there's a system.
God made all the rules and set it in motion,
then calmly walked away
to leave us to our own devices (enterprises, surprises, demises)
Come what may.

"There's a philosopher who said that some people spend too much time playing with the meaning of objects in their heads. It can get to a point where nothing makes any sense, and they go crazy. Some of these people find a way to describe it, and they're known as poets."

The moon knows better than anyone,
with her sly smile reflected off the lake,
and all that light stolen from the sun.

"Do you know what I wish?"
No, and please, don't finish.
We are far from being done.
Let's not end it before we've begun.

This is my backyard.

If I'm just a zero,
then you are the one.

Holes in the heart.
Holes in the head.
It's a heavy burden to carry such emptiness.
It's true what she said,
whoever she is;
this kind of thing is rooted in dread.

White washed days.
Black out nights.
Holes in memories.
Holes in eyes.

Vomited out the soul with the rest of my insides.

Trying to fill the gaps between thighs.
Cutting through the silence with heavy  sighs.
Getting high, always trying to stay high.
Replace the missing pieces with beautiful lies.

Swimming in swirls.
Dancing with smoke trails.
Hung up on these girls
with their golden locks and pigtails.

Curl me around your finger.
Strung out on different pills.
Let's leave this place together
and fulfill those greater thrills.

Hear the music echo
in those ears that still ring.
Move your body to the rhythm.
I want to hear you sing.

Sweet melody.
Released free and clear.
Tonight we are in harmony,
but tomorrow I'm not here.

Falling in love isn't always enough.
There are other things to take into account.
Like, "Where is he going?" and "Where has she been?"
"Is this someone I can trust?"

In the silence between what actually gets said,
I imagine the thought bubbles over their head.
Taking stabs at guessing what text lies within.
"Can you keep a secret?"

I make believe they're all blank;
that there's nothing above that quiet stare.
Dismiss all the feelings with one swift thought:
"She doesn't even care."

Ink these panels with callous strokes.
Forced together in a frame we did not choose.
This is the part where I confess my love.
This is the one where you cut me loose.

Fill in all those speech bubbles
with admissions of our lack of worth.
I'm not cut out to be a superhero.
I had to hear it from your mouth first.

If you are who I think you might be,
and if you're actually reading any of these -
if you're not just an offshoot symptom of my paranoid descent into insanity -
then I want you to know
that I've got something to say:
FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOU
Go away!

I grew up watching my parents reduce themselves to their bassist.
Oops, that's a typo:
They are not musicians.
Debasement, so crass.
Humiliation on full blast.
But I guess it's a fairly common thing to dread family vacations.

My mom can't take the hint.
She can't tell when we're disinterested.
My dad talks a bunch of crazy **** despite who might be listening.

There's an unspoken comraderie amongst us siblings.
We're all in this together.
We fight our inherited,
unwanted,
self-destructive tendencies.
When I lose a battle I can always count on them to make me feel better.

Two have found ther wings.
They flew away from this place.
One soars high,
but I fear the other found himself another cage.

It's okay, I think.
I mean, I think he'll be okay.
As for us remaining two,
we're slowly making our way.
Our way out, is what I mean.
It's what I meant to say.

This nest hasn't been kept very warm,
but I guess it's still a home.
With two featherless,
flightless birds to deal with;
I'm glad I didn't have to go it alone.

Some doors should stay closed.
Certain things are best left alone.
Curiosity killed the cat,
and took its soul into the great unknown.

Do you ever wonder about secret agents?
How they behaved when they were young?
Did they have troubled childhoods?
Were they not properly loved?
Did they have a lot of practice with resisting lust?
Did they learn the hard way that there's no one you can trust?

Do you ever wonder about rock stars,
and what makes them so rabid?
Did they recognize their own potential,
but couldn't fight those filthy habits?
All of that anger for their parents, ex-lovers, and friends.
Did they take a trip to hell only to find out that it never ends?
Did that anger actually stem from a disappointment with themselves?

And what about the lonely who never find Someone Else?
Did they all partake on a journey to find their self?
Did they hate the answer?
Did they get no results?
Did they get stuck in a tunnel then couldn't crawl their way out?
Maybe they just never found anyone who could deal with the depth of their faults.

I'm in a chrysalis stage:
still developing into an adult.
All of the mistakes I've made -
their lessons are being retained.
It's all preparation and training.
One day I'll be great.
You don't have to believe me,
but just you wait.

Your number is
the one most often deleted,
usually after some late night greeting.
Please don't reply.
I don't want this misery to keep on repeating.

It'd be easier if I never had to see you again.
I've never had so much trouble with keeping a friend.
When burning a bridge is no longer an option,
I tend to lose my ****.

You're so ******* lovely -
I can hardly deal with it.

If you're not the saint that I paint you out to be,
then do me the favor of not telling me.

You represent pristine purity.
Don't give me a reason to doubt.
When I looked into your eyes that evening,
I knew what you were about.

I dread the loss of your innocence,
but I know it's bound to be.
They say that if you love something completely then you should set it free.

But *******, I admit, you're the most lovely thing I've ever seen.
I'll always resent the fact that I wasn't the one to give you wings.

"This is the last one."
Famous last words.
Caveat emptor;
I think it means consumer beware.

Just one more,
I swear.
He's doing it again.
I promise to buy more beer
tomorrow.

Keep it safe
in familiar territory.
Nothing non sequitur.
Nothing out of place.
Don't go sailing off into outer space.
Stick to topics that relate.
(Ignore how everything is connected to everything else -
not everyone thinks that way.)

Nothing out of left field.
You've got to save some face.
There's a reputation (somewhere, somehow) to maintain.
Be polite, pleasant, and plain.
Leave the madness in your brain.
Hide your heart;
keep it tucked away,
and above all else,
don't go digging up those corpses from their grave.

"Wonderful weather we're having.
Isn't it a lovely day?"

There's so much more to life.
That can't be all there is to say . . .

It was just a fantasy.
Faded now, but even then,
I haven't grown up yet.
Still a kid playing make pretend.

In reality, I'm afraid to be your friend.
I've a pristine image of you in my head.
All glossy glow in a coat of varnish.
I'd hate to see that halo tarnished.

Angel, don't you understand?
I'm not fit to be your man.
I know you've got one and I'm not him.
Jealousy is such a deadly sin.

Heard it said many times from lovely lips.
Karma has gone and flipped the script.
Finally forced to admit a phrase wrought in irony:
You Are Far Too Good For Me.

Oh holy god,
this one clucks.
Let me stop telling jokes and just keep my mouth shut.

Oh no, oh ****.
This one's a total *****.
Mental note to leave the waiter one hell of a tip.

I've never had a date I didn't hate.
I'm so over it.

Oh great,
this one's obsessed with pop culture,
and this one's some sort of rotten carcass eating vulture.
I don't want to hear about your low-life ex-boyfriend.
I'll eat my food as fast as I can.

I've never had a date I didn't hate.
I count down the seconds until they end.

Are you freaking kidding me wearing that skirt?
No, that's okay, we'll skip on dessert.
Did he really just ask for your number?
Go ahead and give it to him.

Oh good god,
this girl is so dim.
What's that you say?
I wasn't listening . . .

I've never had a date I didn't hate.
I think I ought to just give it up.
Finally accept my fate:
No one but you will ever be good enough.

Best in show,
a pomeranian;
You know it.
Bet you thought that glossy fur would fade before the time to grow it.

I'm annoyed by your showy words and non sequitur phrases.
I've had it up to here with toy dogs and indistinguishable faces.

I've a proposition to make -
not one to be taken lightly -
What if we switched places tonight then held our lovers tightly?

Would we feel like strangers in their embrace,
or would we finally understand:
What it takes to calm me down,
and what it means to be your man?