****** in its love-making, heartbreak is a stoner.
Clouds and pillars, all of smoke, are cradled in my hands.
And dreams blur with reality, and what-ifs with what’s happening.
These wheels turn like poison bicycles, gears shifting in my mind.
“Baby” being whispered in the past and in my chest,
The tides are never ending, and drowning is the game.
Be careful on the sidewalk, don’t step on a crack;
Luck is to being in love as superstition is to the aftermath.
Shine my shoes and comb my hair, am I getting anywhere?
It’s hard to love yourself after that was someone else’s job.
Your silhouette is down the path and I’m still here and staring.
The clouds are green and I’m alone, rose-less with remembering thorns.