these power chords don’t hit so hard anymore
and i’m only playing anthems of when i was not with you
but i’m writing poetry when we should be on the phone
i don’t hear your voice so clearly anymore
and i take your words at hypocritical value
everything you write is beautiful,
and yet as i tumble on bricks i divide them:
this one is definitely true, and
oh this is more than fiction.
i don’t know how to read you
but your hands are so soft (so soft) when they’re in mine
they’re probably soft all the time,
but i thinkhope i’m the only one that consistently gets to feel them
you could rightfully believe the same about mine
and i’m maintaining false hopes of freedom
realizing all the time, i’m so tied down
and i say i won’t get my heart broken
but it rests in your hands like putty
and i don’t know whether this is solid ground or quicksand
only that i’m falling fast.
funny: how you can fall for so long,
and never hit the ground
maybe i’m floating, is that what this is?
&who am I? am i trying to hard,
sometimes i think the answer is yes,
but you know better than i.
so kiss me during the credits
and hold my hand until commercial
we can press pause or play whenever you/i need to
as long as we never find a break between movies
(with the list we have that would be damn near impossible)
i want to know you so well
that i can curl up on a couch with you
you can read your books and i’ll just listen,
to the whirring motionlessness of the television
i want to giggle when you do and cry too
i want to know where my head fits most comfortably
and i hope it’s next to you.
