Maybe i'm dying, this drowning inside. Maybe its' growning up and the sky falling down. Sorrow can make a believer out of even the cynic in the impossible. I'm blind and your blind too, even more lost in your teenage fog than me. Don't shut me out you crazy incubus boy, making me do things i've never dreamed, making me weave in and out of this life like a silk ribbon on a strong breeze. Maybe this is the final step in self destruction, the submission of self for a ghost.
Sometimes I feel lost like a knife to heart, sometimes I feel elation like a shot to the vein. Nobody else could live this wreckage with quite the flair, with the redlipstick and pinned pupils I am primped to the core to be a falling star.
Something with both grace and abandon at the edge of a steep cliff.