why am i here
why are any of us here
why do we assume there's a reason at all
to ponder and tear our hair out over?

why do i feel like the world closes in sometimes and whispers in my ear,
"you're making the wrong choices
you're doing all the wrong things
you're heading the wrong way"

oh my god
my time is running out and I don't know which turn to make
THE LIGHT IS GREEN
THE LIGHT IS GREEN
BUT I WON'T STEP OFF THE BRAKES
BECAUSE WHERE THE HELL DO I GO

I SHOULD HAVE INVITED YOU IN

wish i could tell you that i understand your rubik's cube mind
but the colors keep bouncing around
and i'll never match them up

but i fully believe that some puzzles are prettier unsolved

i know my writing is going down the drain
(i write too much, i write too often)
but **** I HAVE TO WRITE DOWN HOW MUCH I LIKE
running my fingers down your bare back in the seat of my car
resting my head on your chest and feeling your breath
I have to write down how moments with you feel wonderful
and...better.
it's all basic, it's all general
i'm not relating your eyes to the moon
because when the moon is right above us and we could look up and see it
I'd still rather look into your eyes sometimes.

I don't always have flow, no rhythm, no new metaphors
but every night you smile is ******* magical
(no new words)
and i just feel like i need to type it out

so yeah my writing is ****, it always will be,
but tonight I am glad
that my order of words may not be pretty,
but I get to write about something beautiful
(your lips wanting to be on mine)

I'm not really into tradition
Except the tradition people like us have of
breaking tradition.
My eyes aren't quite adjusted yet
but god it's easy to focus in on you

don't worry about me in thunderstorms
i've learned to inhale the lightning
to gasp-in every raindrop that falls
to clasp each clap of thunder in the palm of my hand
i've learned to put my head to your chest
when i am having a nightmare.

that's the sad and tragic thing about people who feel compelled to write things down -
we spend a lifetime trying to figure out the right way to explain what it felt like to look into his ******* eyes

and all he did was look through mine