The wonderful thoughts: pre-memory logs of Ocean Drive and ferry rides blend with wet and warm, smell of salt, shisha and Hawthorne… and you.
Every day meshed of hours, spent with you and broken glass on my palm. Old poison re-flows through a dead brain, new love for world of woes and wonderful thoughts and I can’t handle being around you with this secret thumping in my chest like an escaped orphan and it
burns.
               Oh, how you freeze and burn in my hands.
shooting stars behind my eyes, I catch them all in the jar on my cluttered shelf.
I named my lies after you, and I’m trying once in a while to be less broken and undeveloped. Music in both ears clashing waves, weave in and out of practiced thought. Pain chills and heat breaking over cold sweats and I still want you near me even if you’re just a star I burn for in orbit. Sleep now and I wish you rise fresh. Next week might might might might be the day. Just stay around?