little lottie could never speak her mind
it was always encrypted
it was always in code
and the cypher? i could never find

me and little lottie once played in the street
and all at once
my world turned around
and the world was filled with no sound

but my ears were filled with little lottie’s voice
and unfortunately it was uncrypted

i had no choice

it is all fun and games to be different
to live in the opposite direction

it is all fun and games to be cool
to never be under someone’s protection

but angst hurts when the bullets fall from the sky
and if you wonder how mainstream is so crowded,

now you know why

everyone adores the fallen woman
perched upon her tree
she would not stop for any man
because no man would let her be

necklace of rope adorns her neck
her hair flowing in the gentle breeze
i wonder if anyone was able to check
if she still had my keys

she locked away my heart long ago
i was fine with it until now
but my fallen woman always echos
and i simply don’t know how

i quit my whistling
it is not what i imagined it to be
it is not a pleasant thing
i wish it was able to reflect me

but my whistling remind me of the trains
the choo choo
the things that lost me so long ago
i used to walk to and fro

but now i stand on solid ground
and that is why i hate my whistling
because even if it is broken

it still makes a sound

please
let me in
let me in!!
i am not ready to let this end
i am ready to make amends
i want us to be friends

please come back
please come home
because i don’t know where to go

i cannot hold onto your doorframe for much longer
i cannot pound to the rhythm of my own heart
following my own drums

but you are home
but i am not
let me in
let me in!!
my whole being is spread paper thin

my mind is spread through the ashes of us
echoes of someone i used to trust
and you used to trust me too
i need someone else to let me in
so i can become whole again and move on from you

dwindling flames on a newspaper
cutting off the last hairs
this isn’t fair
wheres the rewind?
wheres the continuation?
does everything always have to combust into inflammation?
no
inflammation is your skin
it lives on you
it is from you
it is all you
inflammation could be paper thin
it could be just in the wind
but it isn’t the outside
it is not a border
the blame is on you
you make your bed
it is all in your own head
you create your own reality
that is whats so scary about finality
it is the one thing you cannot control
it is a hole
an amalgamation
it is the one thing that stops the colors in the inflammation
it sparks the flame on the newspaper
the rewind is there
just use your own head
use your own world
but if there is one thing you take away
from this continuation
do not blame the inflammation on the world
it is all you
it is all you