time: 12:37pm
music: this is how it goes - missy higgins
mood: sleepy.
myincoherence.
but, love is not fashionable anymore,
poets and writers have killed it.
they wrote so much about it
that nobody believed them,
anymore.
i am not surprised.
the world has staged true love to suffer,
and all in silent repose.
dear heart,
please paint my eyes to permaneance,
click these ears to rewind playback,
because then i can lie
and tell myself how
it means nothing to me and
nothing will never mean anything to me,
spin resolutions to stand by them,
sing melancholy of three simple over-used,
play melancholy of mis-used chords
and save me a pocket made of change
to keep the empty full,
on days of half-empty glasses.
poets and writers have killed it.
they wrote so much about it
that nobody believed them,
anymore.
i am not surprised.
the world has staged true love to suffer,
and all in silent repose.
dear heart,
please paint my eyes to permaneance,
click these ears to rewind playback,
because then i can lie
and tell myself how
it means nothing to me and
nothing will never mean anything to me,
spin resolutions to stand by them,
sing melancholy of three simple over-used,
play melancholy of mis-used chords
and save me a pocket made of change
to keep the empty full,
on days of half-empty glasses.
if i had a choice,
i would wish for you to stay in inebriated wonder.
tangle your fingers between mine.
so that every single day
and every falling minute
you'd ask for me to love you.
nothing less,
nothing less.
i am
a tear at the heartstrings,
your parachute gravity,
your gravity freefall,
a freefall repetition,
for forever
and ever
ad infinitum.
