I want to melt into the speakers
dance in the fibers of the fabric
that layers the plastic,
like a small child would with make-up
at the age of seven,
there's no such thing as too much,

Never a chance to remember,
all the time in the world to forget,
everything is perfectly fast:
in the moment.

Imagine living like that,
the sting of a bee on a young girls foot,
the screams
and the tears running down her confused face,
her eyes ask questions to the sky,
to her foot,
to the crushed remains of what caused her so much pain.

Then,
the kiss of a freshly peeled band-aid,
almost as soft as a mothers kiss,
almost as soothing as her cold hand on your forehead,
almost as sweet as the lullaby she would sing before you'd drift.

Always trying to fall asleep with your eyes open,
trying to catch every last inch of the sky,
counting the stars through the ceiling,
slowly falling asleep
without even realizing:
you're waking up.