G,E,F,F,A

Birds, dancing, twirling

fading away like a failing star

a dying sun

 

Harking back to a time

that doesn’t exist any more

only the present matters

 

Giving me a look

You want something from me

Something I want to give

 

You give me so much

and I don’t have to ask

But I’m scared of myself

 

Scared of what I will ask for

scared of what I won’t be able to repay

Temptation heavy, to give into this gravity

 

I’m supple around you

But I can’t depend on anyone

Because I’m addicted to it, to people

 

Here I am again

Prophesising my own destiny

Making it happen by thinking on it

 

My stars trajectory

is decided by my mood

 

I see a microcosm in you

In your smile

Your vivacity

 

I’m struck by you

By who I can be

Who I allow myself to be

performing naturally

 

Major progressions

highlighted by my minor chords

Tone poems flit through me

 

In between the notes

arrows pierce me

but I refuse to be defeated

 

I shoulder the burden of pain

and keep on

 

Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel

is a fire

It’s still better than the darkness

 

Snow in June

Sunstroke in january

A lucid dream state

 

We’re hallucinogenic

I’m confused

but amused

 

Reality is for those

who can’t handle us

 

Stratospheric, heady highs

between your thighs

 

Your face on my shoulder

Your palms upon my heart

Letting me know I’m alive

 

Lines in the sand

We’re haunted

We haunt ourselves on these ghosts behalf

 

 

I’m glitching out

but it’s better that way

broken is beautiful

 

I’m younger than I was yesterday

Revived

rejuvinated

 

The lake shimmers in your light

I burn my eyes

Looking directly at you

 

Breaking and shaking

Fossilising

Under my meteor mind

 

I remember you from tomorrow

I remember who we’ve yet to become

 

Angels fall from my shoulder

the devils don’t exist

Locusts fill my eyes

and I kill my own god

 

Motifs encircle our speech

Voices raise

Strings bleed

Percussion shakes me

 

Hearing colours

Seeings sounds

You are synaesthetic

But my spectrum is limited

 

My skull is a ceiling

Glass encasing stones

I sit astride my own bones

My mind uses my corpse as a throne

 

Am I cursed?

Can I be reimbursed?

 

Trade in my trauma

for something present

and real.

 

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