I'm in the backseat, speeding out of my comprehension,
Down the road in the darkness
With no choice but to trust you.

You had one request of me:
Play ****** pop music,
And I obliged to heighten the mood
But we're all either melancholy or medicated
So it made no difference,
Except that which was on the surface.
///
Muse of Tragedy, enter...

I have no need to scratch out stage directions,
I inserted myself into the situation.
Because it wasn't you that needed to inspect my dramatic ways.

I hungered for all the calamity you could carry, all the companionship and all the trial.

It's been deep and you've been quiet in getting comfortable with me.

Have I grown familiar to you in how I'm a bumbling mess?

Recognize my form as something better.

I'm desperate for you to see me at the base of my spine, not the top where it connects to my poorly formed brain.