The sky is suffering from insomnia;
can you feel it?
And away we go, on a lemon-drop colored carousel
that creaks like the attic stairs and glides
like caramel across your acid tongue.
What happened to us last night, anyway?
Maybe it was the way the stars were thrown
into that navy blue blanket of warped airwaves,
or maybe Orion accidentally plunged
one of his arrows straight into your heart and
you finally felt something for once.
I need to know that there’s more to this world
than being so fucking cold all of the time;
but I know you don’t understand.
Because god plucked some mandolin strings,
pulled some bone from his teeth,
and used them to form two hands that were
attached to a person that he had created
to love you, to hold you.
I, however, have had to hold myself for
eighteen years.
It’s tiring, you know.
We fell against each other in the cornfield
and you said ‘anchors aweigh’
and I said that I didn’t know how
to steer the damn boat, but you
ignored me because your hand was already
sliding up my thigh and really,
that’s all that ever matters.
And when you weren’t looking, I saw
wheelmen in the vanilla twilight,
oscillating from a crescent moon.
They told me that all I ever do
is run through life in circles.
I wanted to show you but I saw the
yearning in your clockwork face
and figured that you wouldn’t
really listen anyway.
Come with me, I wanted to say.
But you didn’t have anything to give me
except bruises from your fingertips,
raging hormones,
an empty street sign,
a layer of skin to keep me warm
for just ten more minutes;
and in a world this cold, well,
that’s all that ever matters, right?
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