Sometimes I wish I could disappear
They never guessed this would rip me in half,
This is ripping me in half.
But it’s fine,
It’s just fine.
I can’t get high anymore,
I can’t get high because I need more and more and more and it’s never enough. It’s never enough to forget.
It’s never enough to forgive.
I can taste metal in my dreams—
this is all the life I’ll ever need.

He doesn’t talk much about where he came from;
maybe he’s scared the truth of the place would speak more than he could.
Maybe it’s hard to explain the hunger or the times the power goes off or the constant fear to someone who’s flown above it all.
Though we don’t talk about the sand or the fruit on the trees or what the rain feels like at the end of the day either.
We’ve lived moment to moment and learned what we know of each other through the present.
Somehow I yearn for this place I’ve gathered pieces of. The place I cannot know but that grew inside me.

Don’t trust anything around you.
Everything is a lie.
Can’t even trust my own thoughts or your thoughts or what you say but I’ll consider it all.
We’re a consideration generation with no truth.

I remember the stillness of that night;
and the silence we felt because nature doesn’t really count as sound.
I remember the cat-tails we’d dip in kerosene
and watch the glean of the light that rode the coat tails of summer into fall.
I hear a clock deep inside me that counts the seasons I’ve watched; tic tock tic tock
Someday this is going to stop.
It threatens to stop.

I had a dream I killed you.
Cold blooded blood on my hands.
Heat swells and expands,
The space I held for patience was small to begin with,
And in my dreams it explodes.
I watch everything explode.
The only thing I feel is relief; love was a myth and I’m tired of the grief.

I create more problems so I have something to solve.
I’m the master of my own destruction and my own purpose.
I’m not sure I know what would happen if I stopped—
Who would we be?

I'm learning about life in a bubble.
I'm learning to use words but not speak.
So when I talk it sounds rehearsed or fake,
Until I don't even know who I am or how I arrived here;
but I look and dress and act like all the figures around me.
Am I part of this?
Is this really who I’ve decided to be?