That emoji means a little less every time I use it. And with every stupid text I send, I know this isn’t enough. These mangled words, foreign and ill-chosen can’t bridge the divide.
Even if it’s just in my head—It’s just in my head, moving to my heart. And I wanna do more, but I’m at work all day. And I wanna be more, but you’re sleeping.
Maybe this is a day-dream, a way to cope with consciousness. Maybe It’s the real thing and I’m wasting away with my hopelessness.
This is an age to make stupid choices, this is the time to get lost and burned. Part of me knows that, and still won’t commit yet? Part of me thinks that, and I’m not conflicted?
Die with me for a moment. Live a miniature life for me in a second. Be hardly a day past 75 and don’t have to wonder.
‘cause maybe these risks broke your bones, but then so did the times living alone. Away from the comfort of where we call home. Trying to be worth-a-damn on the telephone.
Never understood how you become someone. Then you came and possessed my tongue. No need to get out of this mutual agreement; of which we refused to speak.
My cowardly decisions always were the worst of me. In this history, shown up by our fear and bravery.
And I don’t know how much longer it will take, but in this pseudo old age I have to believe—that if I shoot straight I can make it—death, depart, and us in our grave.
And I mean, yeah, it’s all silly, almost pathetic really, and just words on a page. But admit that it has potential and I can’t throw it away. Substitute approval for crickets, and I think you know.