It's all a copy
of a copy
of a copy
of love.

I hope you find your Walden.
I hope it helps you discover
those things about you
that I do love.

Pour a shot of your love,
I'll take it in one gulp.
Lying on the kitchen floor
with my stomach bursting
I swear I love you.

It's like falling into a spider web.
The more you struggle,
the harder it is.

Doctors won't help you.
They'll just give you drugs
that take away the anxiety,
but bring your emotions along with it.

Friends will try and help.
But they can only do so much
before they tell you to get over yourself
and to stop being a baby.

So you'll stay at home,
and smoke your cigarettes
and bite your nails
and take shallow breaths.

All you want
is someone
to put their hand on your shoulder.
To be patient.
To understand,
to kiss you goodnight,
and ruffle your hair in the morning.
All you want is someone to whisper in your ear louder than anxiety already does.

I don't want
my life
to be the worst joke in all of history.
I just want
you
to spend the rest of your days living with me.
We could build
a house
a pretty little cottage right by the sea.
We'll spend
our days
taking walks on the beach and kissing tenderly.
We won't fret
or fight
over the petty little things, we'll live comfortably.
And at the end
of the day
we'll lie in bed, let the night rot away,
while we,
kiss
and laugh
at all the things that troubled us so long before
we met
and loved
and began our lives.
At the end
of our lives
we'll sing each other to sleep, so softly.

Tell me,
dear friend,
are the leaves changing color in Denmark?

Does the moon guide you home at night?
Does the sun wake you up with gentle kisses?

I would walk a mile
and a thousand more
to hear you tell me everything will be okay,
to hear you tell me
that I will make it.
That it only gets better.
Because that's what I need right now.

Are the leaves falling of the trees in Denmark?
Are the children getting paid to rake them up?
Are the mothers loving their children?
Are the fathers keeping them safe?
Can you hear me calling?
Over the mountains
and the across the ocean
my voice will be heard.
And you shall be the one to hear it.

Tell me,
dearest friend,
is it raining in Denmark?
It won't stop here.

Seeing you
makes me homesick
for a home that was never mine,
but one that you allowed me in.
And welcomed me in,
and ushered me into.

I smoked my cigarettes slower around you.
I don't know what that means but I know
that I like it more than being around
someone who subliminally makes me
smoke quicker.