Don’t let your eyes wander they might never come home, and you might just want to wake up before you drown in your wet dreams. It’s either that or learn how to swim before the tide carries your mind out to sea. Wake the fuck up, this is a sickness you can’t sleep off. Saturated again, addicted to all the things you don’t have, frustrated, it ends, but it all comes back around. If you find a dead horse beaten six feet into the earth you’ll know you lost it. Buried with all of your limbs, your head your heart and your lungs. Consider the drowning properties of water dear, because I can’t breathe. They told me home is where your heart is so tell me, how’s my fucking house? Frustrated again, addicted to all the things I don’t have, and from beginning to end all I get is a sense of the same cyclical gestures feigned, cynical measures aimed at a self-medicated tin man. All the advice I have is poor, and it all comes back around. I’ll tell you what I think, one night when we’re deep inside each other I will accept the reality of my theft, you’re the reason I let go of others, but irrationality makes me want to see bones. So you want to see bones? Well start digging, because there’s plenty of dead memories to choose from. Get the fuck out. There’s the door.
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