carried on the dream I tasted in your voice
I was never afraid of heights
when I was falling
falling
falling
all I felt was cool air brushing my hair
as it rushed across my skin
it still tasted like you
or the idea of you
or who I wished you were
or who you pretended to be
it tasted like truth
but the truth is...
I trusted without enough doubt to realize
that touching the sky
meant I couldn't see the ground
that fairytales were meant for those with wings
because flying is a prerequisite
and I was just auditing the experience
soaring through promises I needed to believe
I knew who you were....
until you weren't
I believed who I was
but I never believed myself to be stupid
or naive
or...stupid
real is how we perceive it
but any way I slice you up
the pavement still wears my skin
multi-tonal adhesives cannot
heal the trust I broke by believing you
who am I now?
fear of heights and a traumatic aversion
to self-trust
plus a dash self-loathing
when I close my eyes
I still ride dreams that taste like truth
but the truth is...
flying is a prerequisite
and I was just auditing the experience