semi-automatic, some would call an addict
addicted to fit descriptions of the people inside my brain

the people who i want to be, and they wash me with rain and i am thirsty but im not dying so I dont drink the storm but i drink the trying

and im not trying im existing
consisting patterns on the ceilings and the walls
blissfully and kissing my bedsheets another night of setting myself ablaze in my dreamy state, in my hazy daze

and my body is warm but the mind is cold
and its got no one to hold but its not stable enough to carry a plan and when the wind blows i become the fan and a breezy breezy palm tree on the island

always hold my own hand, and its semi-automatic
walked info traffic, and dont consider it tragic, consider it magic