And did I tell you that when you smile, I can see your heart?
BWA-HA-HA. No way. Just a little slice of metal.
Damian Rice, you Siren, you.
Stuck between giving up something forcefully easy. And then, wondering when it's time to leave. And time to ask for more. From myself, you know. Mom says 28. 28, huh?
Twenty-eight. 16 months and some amount of days. Twenty-eight. Perhaps 30 is the new 28. Or never. This is fun, but it makes me go I miss the rest of it. Until I realize the rest of it is all a headache. Perhaps twenty-eight is when it's all just how it is now - and there are no headaches. Just, ya know, that...there. And a hug or something. But, dear Self, Damien Rice, Mom, I highly doubt it.
"New American Classic"
And she drives. Into the night. Angels creep in her mind and she wonders why the fuck all that dumb shit falls into her mind. All the shit she can do nothing about.
April comes and the rain welcomes new open windows, and fresh air and dreams of new things. Maybe, for a moment, there's nothing to worry about. And, maybe, for a moment, everything is perfect. There is a perfect. And she finds it. And then cynicism and reality falls into place. And there's all things she can do nothing about. Fall back and just ride the ride.
Tidal waves sweep you. Small currents caress your back. Rocks are jagged. Waterfalls are a terrifying leap of faith. Fall back and ride. Don't think. The wind, the water (fire, earth, heart...captain planet!) take you where you would go. Where you will go. Regardless of what you do or how much you pressure or play games or ease up. Life isn't yours - it's fate's.
"The Velorium Camper I: Faint Of Heart"
Stop procrastinating. Less thinking. Impossible.
Slice of the tongue. Sharp words that cut through veins. The heart bleeds.
Well-behaved is an option, an opinion. I'd rather keep it interesting. My life will never be boring. And my momma still loves me.