i thought i cut the strings
closed the book
and burned the pages
but once again
you hit me up
offering me nothing more than a hello
after nearly a year of silence
and so i crawled into your backseat
at 2 am
on a cold november night
because i could never tell you no

i've ****** up plenty of times in my thus far short life
and while this may be one of the bigger ones
i only regret it a little
positive self-sabotage i suppose
because now the bridge is burned
ashes in the wind
land up for sale
and i've got the sheriff on my ***
and this is good
or better
because the sad and toxic truth is
i could never say no to you
you could show up tonight
at 3 AM
and i'd do more than let you in
hell i would have given you the world
if you just promised i could visit
but you won't be looking to sneak around with me anymore
and that's a good thing

my room is a mess
less so in the classical sense
much more in the sense
that my floor is littered with memories
memories i tore from the walls
memories i tossed from drawers
my life stripped down to piles
piles of old sticky notes
piles of "just-in-case"
i'm trying to get a handle
trying to consolidate necessities
trying to finding value beyond sentimental
trying and failing
to pack
pack away enough of my life to live
but leaving just enough
just enough to come back
just enough to save myself a spot
just enough
so yeah
my room is a total mess
and maybe that's a metaphor