(no subject)
3am and thinking of the time when i was etching my name into the wood panels, when we were young. it was something of significance, that we did. libraries filled with words to make our brains more smart, and some more dumb. words hang overhead, for us to grasp or not. for us to understand and communicate with eachother. for us to build up and down and all around.
3am and i wish you were here. with your arms wrapped tight, so i could sleep warmly. its better that way, and ive reasoned with most. this is my thought: most people around here, they are selfish. they are here to sponge up others thoughts, others deeds, others advise, and then to just run away from the world, never looking back.
middle night gives me edge, it makes me think more harsh and like id rather be somewhere else doing something new. it makes me hate you. but it makes me want you all the same. its a difficult time, 3am.
3am and i think id like to make pictures, and lay on couches, with you. i want to build my days upon the ones before. and make language fit into spaces, little spaces with barely any time. id like to talk in languages deciphered in my head, with understanding so i can write. id like, to hold, my hand, to my, brain and feel as if it could shake along with anything. you know the feeling.
i wish i was MORE> and could bring you with me. its alright.
im shredding my own worth, down to nothing. and its not a pretty thing. 3am is fucked. its a horrid time, you know. and im writing my life on a napkin.
3am and i wish you were here. with your arms wrapped tight, so i could sleep warmly. its better that way, and ive reasoned with most. this is my thought: most people around here, they are selfish. they are here to sponge up others thoughts, others deeds, others advise, and then to just run away from the world, never looking back.
middle night gives me edge, it makes me think more harsh and like id rather be somewhere else doing something new. it makes me hate you. but it makes me want you all the same. its a difficult time, 3am.
3am and i think id like to make pictures, and lay on couches, with you. i want to build my days upon the ones before. and make language fit into spaces, little spaces with barely any time. id like to talk in languages deciphered in my head, with understanding so i can write. id like, to hold, my hand, to my, brain and feel as if it could shake along with anything. you know the feeling.
i wish i was MORE> and could bring you with me. its alright.
im shredding my own worth, down to nothing. and its not a pretty thing. 3am is fucked. its a horrid time, you know. and im writing my life on a napkin.