Someday I will tell them what I mean by the awful
Things I think
For now hold this orange and stifle the need for me
To need you to peel it for me
Hold it like a gun to my head
Make me chase my dreams at a new altar.
My fears are new; fresh but frozen
Arteries clogged with icicles
We can hold so much of ourselves so tight
We hold so much
Back.
A lonely kitten running away from your feeding hands
(Scared of your newness and strange suspicious kindness)
Stabs you like it should not
No walls are meant to absorb sound waves and splashes of tears
That goes on and on and on.
It's a really bad gimmick, a self-gratifying song.
Let me cradle the leftover news of a week's worth,
No one likes a know-it-all but everyone respects her
And I will lie down the first moment
I find God.