Every little thought running through my little head is a stream of consciousness dammed up. The words all go unsaid. As you pretend you don't like talking, I'll Mr. Mime what I can't say. Instead of moving forward, we'll rewind the pain away. Holding hands on a clockface, turning time counter-clockwise 'til Sleepless in Seattle becomes one more peaceful night where we both dream of genies with big smiles that show our teeth and I don't have to wake and watch you count electric sheep.
Every little word whispered in my little ear is another goddamn cliche, but it's what I want to hear. You just pretend it's not a problem. I'll click my heels and go back home; where Home was once a person, now she's only skin and bone. I'd hold my breath forever if you said I looked good in blue. Even though it might prove fatal, it's something to hold on to. "I know we're all just addicts", as I pour a second glass. This sand goes down like fire, still these seconds never pass.