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Nov 2015
Some nights I leave the door unlocked, though there is no proof, they are still after me. You are the last place I look for lost things. If I could stop thinking about you I would tell my psychiatrist but I wouldn't tell my priest. There is a lifetimes worth of new years promises pending upon your lips, nothing gets me through most nights like practicing in front of a mirror. I believe the fire inside of you will burn me, but I know no other way to get close to you.

Some nights I dream of you backwards and leave the doors unlocked, if you walked out on me, then I would know one of us wasn't telling the truth.

Lighthouses on purpose, fire escapes on mute. I am the patron Saint of second chances, I count the heartbeats away from you. I believe in nothing else. There is a rock in my breast pocket, I don't know how it got there, but it reminds me of you.
Meteo
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Meteo
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