who wants to be ordinary? it's a dumb phrase that keeps popping up. sitting on the porch sans light while the fireflies hover and we pull at the grass. organic apple pop tart and a plastic glass of lemonade. i hate fucking night time when the rest of the house is asleep and everyone is away. scrunching up to hold things in. shirt is off and tossed aside. a jumbo pack of charmin and the air conditioning running. and it just keeps getting uglier. when you know that someone's given up. my chest ain't so big no more and we haven't gone by the creek to lay on beach towels and draw pictures.
i've wanted to run away before, but not like this. train hop to someone else. someone i don't know and maybe doesn't exist. different like chasing someone impossible to find. and chord progressions get louder from the shouting overhead. and i can hear it in the distance, steamed engine over endless tracks. engine rumbling a low but audible trail to follow.
emotional prattle.
can you really do what makes you happy? i love you. if you disappeared off to philadelphia to live cheaply and write at a wooden desk and film with cameras, i would still love you. i want to hold your hand. and rub your shoulder and tell you everything will be okay. this too much of a dream. struggling makes you real.
it looks so cliche written down.
are they crickets or is the fan creaking?
ali told us about her dad. and things to make your heart slow. like the codeine i said i would take from her in pill form. you've got to be obsessed with something. and the streetlight is houses away.
i've wanted to run away before, but not like this. train hop to someone else. someone i don't know and maybe doesn't exist. different like chasing someone impossible to find. and chord progressions get louder from the shouting overhead. and i can hear it in the distance, steamed engine over endless tracks. engine rumbling a low but audible trail to follow.
emotional prattle.
can you really do what makes you happy? i love you. if you disappeared off to philadelphia to live cheaply and write at a wooden desk and film with cameras, i would still love you. i want to hold your hand. and rub your shoulder and tell you everything will be okay. this too much of a dream. struggling makes you real.
it looks so cliche written down.
are they crickets or is the fan creaking?
ali told us about her dad. and things to make your heart slow. like the codeine i said i would take from her in pill form. you've got to be obsessed with something. and the streetlight is houses away.
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