you're the same
kind of different
as me
which is nice
but exhausting
because i cling to you
as if you're the last ember
in a fire that long ago faded
i'm just so cold
and i can't find the flame
in myself anymore

we hold our dreams so tightly
tuck them against our flesh
until the two become one
and give only a glance
to only a few
because in this world
failure is a lot more plausible
then success

but sometimes dreams come true
and they aren't what you expect
because in your head things are perfect
and pristine and peaceful
but reality is messy
and dreams are only dreams
until they happen

my mind;
a prison i lock myself in
when i need someone the most

is it comfortable silence

or have we simply run out of things to say

we are all
chaotic
beautiful
messes.
and isn't that kind of nice.