I'm easily wounded.
Her eyeliner's the fur of the puma.
Dark like a cave.
I looked back and saw all that youth and wandering like something missing.
No cure for old noise.
Wonderful inside this cavern.
Brave brave brave.
This midnight hour telling as it is, a loss.
Traumatic though it may be.
Still I'm not willing to give it up.
Tin type, lead type, the alluring type.
Waiting for a reply while my heart yearns tired.
Sending desperate pleas across the wires.
Lovesick, homesick, in sickness and in health.
If it was, it'd be like a panic.
A gridwork within my veins that holds me like a web.
And those daggers, smart like mischief.
Mellow, drama.
The dim glimmer in the periphery like simple, elusive possibility.
Or needles...or pins...
Some sort of wreckage out there in the distance
cannot seem to rid myself of this feeling.
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