is it me?
why the fuck do i hate myself?
it has something to do with not knowing when i've lost,
but maybe i can see the planes landing in the afternoon
while i'm laying on the hood of a car and think to myself
"the more we wait"
and i feel completely inadequate again,
because happiness is a disease and there is nothing wrong with
"i miss you" anymore,
and i'm having trouble expressing myself again
like butterfly-quick kisses in the rain on playgrounds
with cars giving off the most beautiful backdrop i could ask for ever,
with a sense of a staring giving off a pretentious need to be alive
and be still, one last time, before our bodies move and quake
like sand in a hurricane,
with ice building little castles in the grass and shouting out
'love is like a wineglass' and no one knowing but me what that meant
and streaming self-expression kills me,
because i love what thinks and breaths.
we are the same, but we're all so fucking different.
can you tell me where you are?
i swear to god, if you're cold, i'll melt away all that fucking snow,
and now i'm perspiring,
where did the rain go?
where are all my semi-colons and commas?
i feel so out of place and it scares me
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