Clouds over the skies,rain pulls at your eyes
But nothing hurts more than little words turned lies
And these smiles that were once so freely drawn
Became a careful masterpiece of embroidery
I wonder if it’s sadness that chose your eyes to haunt
But in the end, it doesn’t matter if you were blinded
Or if you could see
I could sense when you first drew the curtains closed
And ran to hide behind a door
When all you had to say was help and I would’ve ran back
But that call of help was not part of the story
Weaving too soon, this god at the loom
And this is not the story I knew
The ink is too wet and the old lines live uncrossed
Too soon would I rise with all I could carry
And in the end we know we die
So why grow too old when we can fall from the sky
And in the end we’ll hold you close
Tears before smiles, broken before fixed
A night I still remember
Those little lies, you say they weren’t said
But those cruel letters that were wrote
You were the sender

Space grey minds – made complicated –
These hotel mind-mansion muddled mud-bloods’ migraines, migrate through marble madness in a world where mirrors set a wide mould...

Bouquet of the fitting brain,
these silverfishes, odd souls, under glass mass,
forge their separate ways -
to avid void identities,
paving stone by paving stone, thought by thought,
scar by scar, screen by screen, smelling and selling our spirit...

Like the gold smoke whispered clouds from her serious clown mouth...
and the deep blue sky night turbulent feeling,

We’re stone dragging dreamers,
born gutter of the night,
eyes always feeling...

With roof rows of crimson,
these car attached mannequins,
Wake up where magic meets music -
Strange sheep soft in the glitching hope hearts of these sugar plane crash cities.

I cant tell if you love me
and I don't think that you really need me
maybe its because your the first guy
who hasn't pressured me for his own wants

And I don't know If I love you.
It hurts me if I do
and it took me this long to contemplate
my own curled and entangled thoughts.

I know every morning I pray that
you will think of me
but I just can't see
me with you

I think I am afraid of comitment
and devoid of attachment
but how I plea with my heart to say
you and only you.

I want to be in love in the spring
I want you to see my face in the flowers
I want to hear your voice in a warm breeze
I want you to need me.

Some times I can't tell
if you even think I'm pretty.
Every guy who has
asked me to...

I hope that you relize that I
don't mean to hurt you,
at times I think that it would be
better for you to forget me

I want to love you
but I can't tell if I want you
or the attention that you give me.
I feel horrible for this all.
Like I'm using you because you enthrall
with my deepest desire to be
yearned  for.

everything’s complicated
everything’s a struggle
have you noticed?
it’s a psychological horror
is this feeling the ‘adult disillusionment’ I keep hearing about?

I mean, things work, if you sit on them like an egg—
if your mother things along and helicopter a result.
I mean, what do people do who don't have
my resources and sunny disposition?

I get America’s increasing paranoia but I think that it's *** backwards. Even if someone's were out to ‘get’ you, no one actually cares about doing their job anymore. There's just so little competence around, that the dysfunction feels intentional. And because you need something and you’re helpless, you can't help but feel targeted.

But I think I figured it out, so let me elucidate—they aren't giving YOU bad service, it isn't personal—everyone is getting bad service, two pieces of chicken in the box when you ordered three, five day delivery when you’re clearly paying for two, failure’s become routine—endemic.

My go-to phrase has become, “What’ll it cost?” (the answer, usually: twice as much) “Make it so,” I say, swiping something with my Apple Watch, and suddenly, everything works!
.
.
A song for this:
decide to be happy by MisterWives

Don't let the little things get to your head,
Because if you do, your love will lay dead.