i. lines

ii. fucking things up, again

iii. stars

iv. interlude 1

v. this too shall pass

vi. sometime

vii. my

viii. interlude 2

ix. secrets

x. love is, love is, love is(n’t)

lines

where’s the line between here or there?

dreams or dares

i’m scared.

i mean, is there a line?

between good and evil or old and new

between something borrowed and something screwed.

it makes fucking sense shit

but all i search is mountain pits.

dips and slides and rips and rides

ocean deep and mountainsides

i mean, really? you used mountain twice

poetic device.

poetic license? you’ll be so lucky

i mean really quit with this fucking

what? i didn’t ask for a guide to hide and confide in

my secrets.

secret for a reason

though what reason i don’t know?

i mean, if it snows at least everything will look nice for a day

yeah just don’t piss in it.

piss down the drain

i mean it’s futile,

everything, futile and empty and effervescent and i don’t know what else.

shelf rhymes with elf rhymes with self

rhymes with orange.

no it doesn’t.

well it should.

fucking things up, again

why did we make paper white?

who decided that was the colour on which we should write?

purity. isn’t that what white means

strangled dreams hidden behind screens on green

pathways. pathways out of here, somewhere there, just not here.

i mean, surely there is the definition of not here, but alright.

fitting everything in is hard, isn’t it?

fitting every feeling in your soul and every thought in your mind

when even a single one is too big.

asphalt. nice word to say, asphalt. takes up another slot in the brain

complicates. articulates. regulates.

i mean a word is just a word if its heard herd bird curd

word.

just a word.

but somehow more than that?

is it the soul that makes it more?

maybe it’s the devil.

maybe it’s not more at all and it’s just humanity

fucking things up, again.