Current mood:	sore
Current music:	Thrice.

...open bloodshot eyes...



Save our souls
Our fixations
Our tragedies
Pretend it’s worthwhile
It’s worth something
So that it’s possible to get through the day
These minutes hours seconds
Pretend I’m more than a body
That I have a soul to be saved in the first place
It’s far too cliché to say that I loved
Far worse to say I loved and lost
So instead I will recount
That night,
Or early morning
It is in those details
Where you find my voice
The staccato of the trembling
It is the details
That matter most
Because they are all we ever really have
The sixty eight stars that I can see from my rooftop
The seventeen fireflies I’ve caught in my life
I have kept records of the days since you left
Because that’s what it was
Leaving
And they say it wasn’t about me
That it never was
But the fact that your words are stained
into the deepest layers of my flesh
Say otherwise
And It pains me
To admit to myself
That when it really boils down
To the bottom of the pot
When the water evaporates
And the flame is eating through the metal
That maybe It doesn’t matter
And it is overbearing
that they don’t understand
Don’t comprehend these spheres
In an infinite arena
some endless cacophony
yet all I hear is my heart
Thumping somewhere in my chest
And all I feel is the cold air keeping me from sleep
They say, they promise
It will get better
Something about time and wounds
But that’s the point
It hasn’t
Days months years
And it hasn’t
And it’s too cliché to say I love you
But I whisper it anyway
On some air current
Flowing past my window
And I pray to a god I know isn’t real
That it will find you.