you are zipping up my jacket
and your hands look broken.
I'm the cold sweat on your forehead
and the copy of the copy
of the last girl who tried to save you.
the truth is, I don't want your bony,
bony fingers to ever change.
now I'm in a small book store
reading Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis and
I want to know why the clocks are ticking
and why the walls are breathing louder than the people.
I want to run faster than my heart can handle
on these wet seven a.m. streets.
can't I just collapse and live here until you find me?
we're soaking our hands in the liquids
in our cups in our mouths in our minds
because our drinks have been spiked with unconsciousness,
and deep down, we all just want to escape.
I want to wait in your car as you stand in line,
waiting for the beautiful girl you only see
when you're asleep. I know I'm far from you,
but dear, dreams are even further away. but
maybe we're more alive in our dreams
and we're asleep when we think we're awake.
maybe it's all backwards and