I'm sorry I'm not more. Muchier. I'm sorry I'm incredibly small and extremely timid. I can't talk to you the way I wanted to. It's the way the world moves. It makes me heavy and I'm not made if these things that real people are made of. I'm made up and comprised of bits and strings. Buttons and rocks. I'm dense.
Is this even living? The way the veins tangle and make it up. Short circuited and flash banged into this thing called me. Truth and dreaming. Darling, I'm sorry that I'm not the way you dreamed. But you're my every fiber and thought. And it can be mistaken for loathing but one day, maybe, we'll meet. And maybe I'll be something more.
The ocean is bleeding salt. And the air smells like home before it snows. I've got a dollar in coin, and nothing to my name. Worse. Woe. Worn. A hundred thousand times.
Can I keep you? Please come. I owe you everything.
Lost.
Spinning.
I saw another shooting star, and it made me think of you.
It's just the headlights, man.
I hear your voice in my head. It sure feels nice on my brain. Calm. Comfort. Quiet.
I never had the blues. Like this. Muchier. Incredibly loud.
A hundred thousand times, I'm sorry I'm not more.
Like a crooked tree. Strange. Ripples in my hair.
I heard you whispering. You're Everything.
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