Pocketed hands and escape routes,
run as fast as you can.
Before the truth comes loose,
bury it in the sand.

**** me with a stare,
and break me beyond repair.
Speak up, or shout out.
I really do not care.

The move is yours to make,
make it or not I know the truth.
But with this slow, dull, ache,
I'll waste away my youth.

Weightless paper plane,
I float about the days,
severed from reality
hoping to lift this haze.

A fragile heart can only beat so long.
Without it's other half at hand.
Make your move before the tide comes in,
and I wash out with the sand.