don’t know what you call this,
it’s labeled a whatever thing.
you’re leading me,
tired of your mystery,
this isn’t suppose to be a puzzle piece,
can’t you see that i’m falling apart without you?
call it emotional dependence,
but if you cared just as you say you do,
you’d prove who and what you are,
instead of eluding to the truth.
burning through these possibilities,
how about you,
light a match, and,
guide us to the direction of nevermeanttobe.
do I have to remind you again?
how to act,
you make me feel like i’m high above,
the clouds of doubt that fill your mind at the worst of night,
causing me to lose track of time.
when it’s time to go,
we pack our bags,
forget to say goodbye.
if you were truly what i gained,
you wouldn’t mind tiring or lying to me.
i’ll accept it for what it is,
cause you’ll reminisce,
leave me to guess,
then wrap me all up in your head;
not as a present,
but to mark the esssence of having the nerve to speak to me.
i shouldn’t have to open the door,
place the keys on your front lawn,
just to see you move on from me again.
advice runs around my mind,
telling me things that i do not like,
how you like to lick your lips,
to marinate a thousand more lies and excuses,
feeling unashamed and inveterate every time.
shamelessly you make me yours and I make you mine;
oh, i don’t know what to call this.
memories of you and me,
raid through these homemade remedies,
for once and for all, trying to forget you;
for the love of Christ, why do I feel inclined to you?
you’ll call me once,
or maybe twice,
and i’ll pick up,
just to hear you cry, and whine,
about the things you can’t achieve in life.
because this life is like a marathon to you,
don’t race along when you feel rushed,
you’ll just forget to pace yourself.
my innocence is wearing thin,
you’re wearing me all across her chest,
tell me you’re numb and can’t go through it again,
don’t feel nothing.
i’ll convince myself that you are here,
that you are here to hear what i feel is true and finally listen.
as the days go by,
i allow time to slip through fingertips,
time after time,
you make me out to be the biggest fool.
when i brag about you to them,
they suggest i don’t get too fond of you,
nevertheless, i’ll drift and float to dizziness;
disregard the past conversation,
while actively pursuing to revitalize the old one again.
these perpexlexing parts are hard to find,
i look around, note one to none,
and none to suffice;
there it goes, so i, lose track of you.
I suggest listening to Yellow Lights by Harry Hudson, it’s been running through my head these past couple days and sparked an interest in me to write about a personal anecdote. I hope you enjoy, see you all soon, x.