vain fluff, temporary garbage
954 pieces of trash is too much
to pick up

let the most dazzling of sunlight
and cool shade get along in peace
let the blue fat flies settle on the miles
of back alleyways full of dumpsters

veiled threats from anonymous faces
who are apparently experts in poetry
let it all rot under a gibbous moon

Maybe you're just out of touch
and me too, a little out of reality
but maybe you'll holler me down next sunday
make your hands form a heart when you feel alone
and you'll know just how i feel inside

call my number if you feel like i do inside
maybe you'll hollow me out next sunday
cradle it all, baby of sorrow and ebony tough love
we hood and love doesn't belong here
trying to be cool around you, but i'm feeling lower than ever

just a bit of letting go and things that i'm not going to live
with next sunday

and i feel myself breaking everytime i talk to you
wake up crying, go to sleep crying, mad at myself
for trying to believe im something to you or a factor
that influences your fleeting thoughts and actions during the day
are you sleeping on me? sky goes colossal over my head
and the sun exposes the long lost footprints trekking
to the wrong places i strayed to, and you can map them all out