high tide
I would rather stuff, and crawl,
rather than try to figure holidays.
The way it’s so important to you, to make me behave.
For me to feel small, I give it my all. My favorite pallbearer hasn’t a map, just goes wherever the siren’s call.
Bliss, bliss, something feels horribly amiss.
Kaleidoscopes, the way burdens mix. I wish beside a carnival, a job could be had where someone could be paid to kiss. If that was the case, I wouldn’t have to say or feel this.
i hope, now, for me and you, please, don’t come back this way,
unless you’re ready, steady to stand up, however you feel tricked. from a rotten patch, your mad at me, conjure your heart and it’s jury, make me feel picked.
burdens, flowers, sour, turnins’, the light so much, more than being off,
till the daisy’s on your grave grow only from cough, don’t stop for a second glance,
don’t get caught, doing something you are not, even if you do, that ain’t an excuse to just lay down and rot.
you wanted to teach me how or who to be,
how come you can’t deliver lessons never to teach a preachy, preach,
I want to run away, but I know wherever I go, there are no fingertips,
or knuckle’s on which we can ever agree. i’ll just get tired with struggling unlimitedly.
the water and the sand struggle evidently, bitterly, like always and forever daze,
it has nothing to do with you and me.
