"i am so lame" i whisper to myself
after putting your flannel in the dryer
so that it would be as warm as it was when you gave it to me
fresh off your skin

your scent is waning, but i can still catch it
i wish i could hold it in my palms
because god knows it's my favourite smell in the world

i wear it until it get's cold again
but by then i'm already asleep

dreaming of you as i pretend you're holding me

Words are hard.
I know I'm not saying
Anything revolutionary.
For all of the human race
Speech poses a quandary:
Do I speak?

Words are hard.
You know the saying:
Like a stone, words hurt:
Shattered bones, shattered soul,
Shattered self worth.
Can I speak?

Words are hard.
They take more energy
than I have left to give.
Perhaps if I ignore the rest
I'll have a will to live.
Why should I speak?

Words are hard.