(f)right to love
Vice grips on the brain. Heavy dream hearts. Cross country trips underneath the eyes that long to see your bed. Home is where the heart is(n’t). Songs that make your veins scream for a breath of fresh air. Let them out to taste the leaves. Turning colors as fast as your affections. Remember when everything made sense? My room’s as messy as my conscience. Signed, sealed and delievered, we’re the products of last resorts.