sometimes i read my poems to find the person behind all these lucid dreams
but i get lost in the secondhand smoke of all these apologies
getting high on delusional compromises

maybe theres nobody there, maybe there never was

but i can see your eyes through the sticky haze, made of sky and ecstacy
they look through me, seeing the worlds i gave to you
worshippers kiss all the skin i used to

but its my name on their lips