some nights are easy, i see all of the signs
that show me what I don’t have, I am sure to find
but some nights are melancholic
hyper focused on relations forged to be platonic,
and it’s ironic.
im ironic.
you sold me the story and I bought it.
I thought I fought this.
but when the signs lead back to you,
what am I supposed to do?
and now I worry my messages won’t even come through.
yeah it’s ironic,
i can’t stop it.
no matter how hard I try to block it.
it follows me from guy to guy, the demons i run from i always find,
but im fine,
it’s fine.
really I don’t even mind.
we can just talk from time to time.
you can think im crazy because
i can’t communicate right.
but I try.
i swear i try.
a symbiotic semi ****** far too nonchalant nightmare on my phone,
dripped in silver linings i pickaxe out of stone to subdue the fear of being alone.
and you know.
don’t you know?
and you give me nothing but just enough so I don’t go
but every word you say is thickly coated in your ego

it’s a game im always losing,
and a choice that you’re not choosing,
the same flower that was blooming
is now rotten petals from my assuming

its ironic.
i swore it was platonic.
but this ache is catatonic
the way i crave you is chronic
how can the two be synchronic?
i carry love like it’s astronomic
i never said it, but i thought it
maybe im the one who’s toxic

i count on you to disappear,
you never let me down.
i wish you’d just tell me,
you’ll always come back around.
how sad does that sound?
the hidden meanings ive found?
you painted me red and wondered why i looked like a clown.
i just laugh. im the joke.
i don’t get it so i smoke.
you are like a door stopper that’s always in my way.
i can never slam the door closed so i have to sit with my rage.
and my nostalgia is milk that’s soured with age.
a nightmare i masochistically recreate,
and then complain that I can’t escape
so I find new malignancy that I can blame.
to match a new frequency I can alternate,
a virus that consumes all of my drive space,
baby blue flowers in an empty landscape

I said you can’t hurt me,
but you knew I couldn’t
stop it.
i found the vulture,
inside of the ostrich.
and you found the victim
inside of the goddess.
i can’t help
but find that ironic.