I can't write, I can't sleep.
I can't think of a way to say what I feel.
I can't move, I can't blink.
I can't think of a thought for the thought of me stealing it.
I can't ever breathe original air.
moves like a neon avalanche
on a pastel mountain and I come so slowly.
when I come please have me.
paper pilot on a head on collision, routine position.
mark out the plot.
map written in fiction.
don't know how to function.
I can't even breathe non-fictional air.
please take my hand and hold it just like a lion would and I'll pull out your tongue
and burn it just like the weather could.
please take my hand and hold it just like a lion would and I will pull out your tongue
and burn it just like the weather could.
moves like a neon avalanche
on a pastel mountain and i come so slowly
when I come.
when I come please have me.
please have me.