I want to run away with you,
have no plans, no ideas,
end up somewhere we never imagined we’d be,
and do whatever it takes to simply enjoy each other,
I want to leave everything that is holding us still,
to be happy without anything,
reminding us of our failures.
We can have the chance we never had,
A different life through subtraction.
We can be all that’s left.
Live somewhere without history.
I have parents and friends nearing retirement age,
but they resemble children as much as me,
it can’t be good for the mind or the heart,
to hold on to such nonsensical hope.
we keep making plans we never see through.
replacing achievement with new ideas.
Am I willing to let go?
Learn another language and disappear.
Who will measure my pain?
I wonder how long it’ll take for reality to set in.
It’s all so bleak when night pins you down,
Smiles in your face and waits for the end,
To take you away from the small things you loved,
I see the future and the past,
But cannot tell them apart.
We could measure the distance between,
our thoughts and honesty,
Or we can step away from our homes,
and laugh at the shape of the moon.
You caught me without the fog,
blown clear by an extrinsic force,
Though, really, how many faces do you have,
And are we the same?
We fooled other bodies under clear skies,
returning in the safety reclusion,
Lies linger over empty glasses,
until we change shape again.
I want you to ruin me,
Tear me down.
I express a sense of worth I don’t believe I have.
Secretly, I want you to show me how worthless I am.
Destroy the fantasy of value.
Which takes the most absurd shapes.
Crushing others with my need to be validated.
I can’t love anyone who doesn’t hate me as much as I hate myself.
I was left alone too long.
Or couldn’t handle my own head.
Time is irrelevant when I’m involved,
I’ll catch up.
My mind is frozen,
Stuck in a hope or a dream,
In which the world was hand painted,
And we could be in love.
I write about you,
I think about you,
Always aware of the illusion the word creates,
You wouldn’t recognize the you I use,
Or a hundred of you will.
I am writing about you,
I am thinking about you.
I’ve probably been in love before,
But there’s a sound somewhere,
Bringing me back to ground.
Sometimes I treat my notebook like your answering machine.