meet me in the morning when you wake up
i am in constant reverie.
i think that often times we believe in something that isn't necessarily true in order to keep going.
and then i think that sometimes we are so strategically dumb founded that it could probably literally spin our heads around. all the way.
i used to think that we held on to things for a reason.. that maybe there was some future of possible happiness or a sweet surrender. but maybe now it's that we hold on to these things because there is merely nothing else to hold on to. and that having the worst of something is better than having nothing at all, just as long as it leaves you feeling a little special once in awhile.
as for now i sit. i am not special. the more i tilt my eye lids down the more i see myself wandering over landscape oil paintings with a large lack of perception painted in. the more i exhale small harpoons and thick swords sting me from the inside before making their appearances outside of my body. my lungs at this time remain compressed between bodily tissue, warm and wet with fluids, tighter tighter fitted every day. i fear they will explode if i don't cough them up. and my spine lingers to leave me troubled.
lately all i'd like to do is sleep. sleep and dream.
if only I don't bend and break
i'll meet you on the other side
i'll meet you in the light
if only i don't suffocate
i'll meet you in the morning when you wake
and i am in constant reverie.
i think that often times we believe in something that isn't necessarily true in order to keep going.
and then i think that sometimes we are so strategically dumb founded that it could probably literally spin our heads around. all the way.
i used to think that we held on to things for a reason.. that maybe there was some future of possible happiness or a sweet surrender. but maybe now it's that we hold on to these things because there is merely nothing else to hold on to. and that having the worst of something is better than having nothing at all, just as long as it leaves you feeling a little special once in awhile.
as for now i sit. i am not special. the more i tilt my eye lids down the more i see myself wandering over landscape oil paintings with a large lack of perception painted in. the more i exhale small harpoons and thick swords sting me from the inside before making their appearances outside of my body. my lungs at this time remain compressed between bodily tissue, warm and wet with fluids, tighter tighter fitted every day. i fear they will explode if i don't cough them up. and my spine lingers to leave me troubled.
lately all i'd like to do is sleep. sleep and dream.
if only I don't bend and break
i'll meet you on the other side
i'll meet you in the light
if only i don't suffocate
i'll meet you in the morning when you wake
and i am in constant reverie.