At this moment, you could be breathing in particles from another galaxy.
Foreign bodies flowing through your body like tiny meteor showers.
Bacteria marvel at the minuscule asteroids in your lungs.
Cosmic dust could be the annoyance in your eye,
Or the dirt under your finger nails.
The truth is,
We all have the universe within us.
Just like the universe has all of us within in it.

You're breaking on your camera hand. Haven't got a leg to stand on.
You tell me
you're making me a colour with your shorthand.
Dropping parts of your mind behind you and I can't pick them up, I can't follow you round anymore.
Kid, you're shaking on the stage again
explain that you can't write this down anymore
and that everything inside your head is a storm.
And I just can't tell you.
I don't have the guts to tell you
that I still smell him on my hair on days when I don't think about you now.
But I can't tell you what I'm thinking
like how you're so wrapped up in your own broken strings that you're not getting me right anymore.
You're not getting me right anymore.

These things I lost down in my chest:
how you made this body your chalkboard fourteen days before we even spoke,
and I don't know what you're leaving with. I can't find the words to leave you with.
Tornado hands. Texas lungs. How this world made you a storyline.
You're an underage drunk on a school night.
Stop dropping yourself I can't hold you up anymore.
This is not a hold up.
This is you forgetting to ask about yourself.
Here are all the letters I never sent you
take them out of me, stop making me write you down I can't write you down anymore please scratch yourself out.

You once asked me if I felt it when you woke up in the middle of the night across all those miles, I told you:
you're a church bell in a hurricane
stuck under all the folded over pages I left you with, and I'm leaving you on a Sunday,
just like all those characters you left sawn off.
And I just want to ask you how many times I have to break myself apart before I piece back whole, and I realise
that we've got nothing left going for us anymore.
Your chipped teeth under my tongue telling me "stop apologising for yourself,"
ripping the keys off a typewriter just take everything I've got.

You can have my apologies love.
You can have my best friend sitting on the tracks.
You can take me whole, take me home.
You're a boarded window, nothing disclosed,
"get away from me".
Candlelight through the gaps on a Saturday night in December.
We're home alone again.
Home alone again.

Shoot your words through me
make me quiver
please
take me down
and make me feel again.
Show me what it is to
burn in love.
I haven't felt in so long
it's an unbearable drone
a lifeless sensation as though
I'm just piloting a shell
of a body.
I don't remember the last
time it was that I itched with
passion
when  I was filled with emotion
and creativity that erupts from the hands
and the mouth
and the mind
and the soul.
It's been too long since I've felt
and now
I've got nothing left to
myself.
It has been much too long
since I've felt a thing.
Hurt me please.
Break me.
**** me.
I've got nothing left to
say.
I can't do this anymore.
I need inspiration.