ive been told i'm naive. i have this problem of letting go i like to cling on tight to memories and most of all people. as soon as i meet someone i put all of my faith in them right away. they always end up hurting me and i feel this heaving in my chest and the pit of my stomach wants to grow legs and crawl it's way but i'm addicted to hurting. i don't know how to get rid of the memories i wish i could be like a snake who sheds but for some reason i like the layers to build up with sadness. i like the way music can make my soul break even more,but still give me a bit hope for someone new. why do i depend on others? i know how to be happy but i want someone to share it with. i want someone that feels like home. i live in this city in mind where the lights shine only at night the mornings scare me because it's a new day where something could go wrong but at night i like to travel to my city. the lights shine thru my bones its being lit up like a christmas tree when you're getting an MRI. on the bad days i try to hang the lights but not from the ceiling i want them to turn off. my bones beg to be brittle the fat that hangs on is suffocating them. my ilium believes the fat is the reason why she doesn't receive love. but ilium is wrong. ischium try's to remind her about the men who pinned those hips down before placing their hands on her mind give me your hands and feel my city. we could build our on world. our city will be for us and you can help me appreciate mornings and i can show you the night and i'll hang the lights where they belong. my heart is racing and this city has drowned me in nostalgia and now i don't know if i have someone to share my city with and then you never realize how lonely you are until you shut the lights off and the light music plays and it's like you remember having someone to share the tranquility with but yet you never really did. you never shared the way music is what's flowing thru your veins and what's pumping your heart. and i can see the look in his eyes and he doesn't get it. he doesn't understand that at night when i lye down i don't hear my heartbeat like he does i hear banana pancakes,cry baby, miss mirage, big jet plane,wait for me, only love, i hear music baby i hear the voices of artist that have constructed notes that soothe my mind their pieces have become co workers who are trading shifts because their not sure if there tunes have what it takes to pump oxygen today