I’m standing at the cross roads
Hoping I see you.
To meet you in the morning fog
in the crystal dew
To sit you down and talk awhile,
bout men like you.
How you walk so tall, and broad,
But the mirror really captures you.
Summer wasps, a salt facade
A face in the burning blue.
All in all it’s flaws, how you choose,
Which road had the map for you?

What you’ve got is a given
Until you have lost it
Why swim in feelings
When they all taste awful?
Where is the limit
To nowhere, cut off from:
Unlimited visions of myself feeling awful.

If your questions are brutal, there’s no way to block it,
Already mourning the loss of our boxes