with the boisterous buzz of the machines and a smile so pure...

so there's a time to be a silly and a time to be funny and ridiculous and sometimes i go too far and sometimes i want to be just one and sometimes i want to be cute forever and snuggle and lay on my side and sometimes i want to make myself cry because i haven't in so long i forget what it's like and sometimes i want to drop it all and follow this road to where it is and where you are but i'm not that brave and sometimes i push and cross the line and step over the boundary to that place where one wrong move or one misinterpreted glance can destroy everything forever but not that itch that suddenly appeared to the left as if it were a reminder that there's something else to think about like what's going on with the chip of faded ivory that taunts y a veces es dificil seguir hablando sobre la vida que es gilipollas pero a la misma vez es maravillosa también porque nunca estoy seguro lo que tendré que hacer y el misterio es lo más interesante pero i go to that place where it's all flimsy metaphors and second languages because there's a better chance that i will tell you what i mean.

i mean:

my mom bought another air conditioner and gave one we had to me so i can go home tonight and lay under the warmth and security of my black blanket and start remembering my dreams.

the dreams, they aren't about you anymore, i don't think they ever were, not the night-time dreams, at least. i falter and struggle to balance here because i don't know whether i really want to lose this but i know i do want to escape your mythology because i've read the metamorphoses and i've read franco american dreams and i choose julie taylor's realism over ovid's attempts to explain away what was already known.

before you work it and own it, work yourself and own your fucking self. otherwise, it's all bullshit.

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