We're all living in worlds too small; strangers on the streets, all our eyes surely met before. The crowd seems so small, when everyone in it, you might have a chance to know. Even if I kissed a thousand girls, it feels like I've had this taste before.
But I strangely want more.
My world isn't round, or flat. But a box with people, filled to the max; of people you call fam. Everybody is an uncle, auntie, or cousin. Stuck at those family gatherings; with the same old discussions.
"Tell your mother I said hie," the message that never makes it home. We don't take the time to get the clearer message, when we're all playing broken telephone. We have too many big problems, in worlds too small.
We want to know everything in our heads of worlds too small. But when you done buying useless knowledge at the mall, you could give me a call. Careful not to raise your voice, everyone is listening in worlds too small.
And it's never too hard to find yourself, in worlds too small.
the tug is light, like string caught on a bracelet. but this is his home and these are his scissors, and he cuts you off. your plea is but a mild annoyance and these four walls seem smaller alone. they ***** you out and that tug.. that tug is a knot caught in your throat being washed down with liquour.
he doesn't tell you this -not in words his lover can hear- but he hates you. you are small and he hates you, and that lover is a friend who doesn't know to save you.
you are small and alone and he hates you. you'll remember to believe him when he jokingly says so.
behind the curtain is uncertain flowers and claps a window perhaps or just a glass for a glance into the past after all it is behind it’s this wall that makes me small it’s this mind that makes me fall