god here I am again at one am, my mind adamantly working away at crafting some hypothetical fantasy involving you breaking my heart and me realising maybe reality isn't reality and the pessimist will conquer above all

i keep writing about being taught **** but let me tell you what I've learned myself, people may be replaceable but if you let them close enough to you they'll take a knife and learn ways to make your heart dance under pressure and those little holes left after, those are what suffocate you; those are what stay forever

it's a game of being a puppet and I obediently listen with every yank of the string hoping one day it'll break just enough for me to touch your face with more than my lips but it's one am and it's showing me maybe all we're doing is going in straightforward circles designed in a one-way downward spiral

I don't think you know what you're doing and the later it gets the more I need to withhold the immense urge to tell you I'm a ******* mess, to tell you it's time to run because it's one am and I'm thinking about you and that never ends well