They lied to me through the gaps where their teeth had been,
and clutched at my purse with their eyes
until I was unclothed and wise,
causing fate to follow behind me as I walked blindly on.

There is no measurement of time in a moment when you feel something,
and I held that moment for as long as I could,
cradling what I thought was different in me.
I stretched until I could see it going around the corner,
and I called to you, trying desperately to get your attention.
But this is fatal,
and only what I don't do will spread quickly enough to get to my lungs.

I don't feel what I used to,
like maybe I can make myself change in the same way that the hand moves over the face of a clock.
I'm just reminiscing over created and discovered memories.
Maybe I found them on my way to the third floor,
I cradle them as if they were yours and hope to god you're an idiot when I know you're not.

It doesn't make sense to be in any body but mine,
thinking anyone else's thoughts,
or feeling anyone else's emotions.
It doesn’t make sense for me to feel sorry
or for me to wish I could handle these things better, like I always seem to.
It doesn’t make sense to be what you think I am,
but that’s why it was fun.