the hair thats trapped under my buttons.
I wake up with a layer of dirt on my skin,
you're the smoke that's sleeping in my jacket.
I've spent nights on the floor with you,
your casino lights are sucking me in.
I'm the shortcut through the field and
you're the paint under my nails.
It's the wind out of the north,
it's the space between your eyes and brain.
The color of your skin is like me sitting alone,
you smell like my nosebleeds...
My blood is the only thing I can taste.
It's the way things look when I'm drunk.
I can't remember what I just wrote...
I've got amnesia and you're my lone tattoo.
You speak like you're trying to fill my lungs,
I speak like I'm a burning building.
Every single day I burn down with the death of each passing day. Today I awoke a hot pile of ash, I pulled the plug on myself and now I'm cooling off. No one will ever build me up again. I will just step outside and disappear in the wind... Until it rains again when the day is born, and then you will see a little piece of me everywhere you turn. And then the infinite extent of my sadness trapped in my dispersion will be set ablaze when you see the pieces of me scattered, and then your world will burn until everything smolders like me. The world too will be ash as I'm buried beneath, and then every piece of you is a piece of me.
It's the dirt under my feet...
No comments:
Post a Comment