We're kissing behind your car, trying to pull away, trying to go to work, while the sun blinds us and turns our skin into golden embers. We're in this parking lot, and the world's not even awake yet. No one even knows where I am. Something in my belly tells me they don't care either, but I let that thought escape my mind, and let you heal my anxiety.
It's waking up in a pool of sweat, or on the couch and stumbling into your bedroom, even though whatever is dissolving in our stomachs prevents us from seeing straight. It's staring at each other in the eyes, unsmiling, while we play our instruments. It's watching the spider on your patio as it eats the innards of the fireflies. It's dancing to the Supremes, or moshing to the decline on your bed. It's sneaking me in because I'm homeless, or helpless: Like if you're not there, you're going to return to your old ways, or worse yet, disappear.
I keep looking at myself and feeling small, unhealthy, or ugly, like if I could take my skin off, I would. If I could jump into your dark eyes, I would. I wouldn't have been stuck here at work since 10, or have had to work so hard, just to be homeless another day, without friends or family to call on, without a car to fall asleep in. This is what I wanted...I guess.
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