Waiting with you the moment we get high. Refining nothing but that instant. Confusion, blurred oblivion, let it come, remnants of civilization surrounding us, fading lights still messing, that gloomy yesterday, those people who keep waiting, despising us. Leaving them speechless, far behind, like scary model figures, perfectly wrapped in their ties, at work.
You sour candy face, happy as you are, I lay you down close by. Time I guess will get better, offering you a place, a proper way to love.
What I lack most among what I lack most, that is, I can’t help you out. Pretending I will come on Sunday, on Monday. Once again cooking your neck in the curve of my arm, moved by the shadow of your big eyes, sealed.
The man I carry, and the man I dispose off, the man I happen to be, the morning sorrow of an old miracle child, the one you take, the face you leave me, the white mark you let, the unspeakable sorrow you crush into my lungs. Not even a laugh to save us.
At the darkest chords of the bar. Blessed are the ones who are able to shout. Dream up something or let us be a miracle.
Lightly swirling behind you.