I'm stretched out, I'm happy. I'm happy because we talk into the early, dark lonely hours of the morning, except of course I don't feel so lonely. All these words go fizzling crackling around my veins, shooting through me buzzing and keeping me going, in this when my mind feels as if its wilting. As if my soul is slowly smouldering away - turning to ash, shot through with lies and cracked pain, cracking and falling apart. And is it happiness? I'm not sure, just as it pushes me over the edge, trying to figure out what kind of love this is. whether to chase it, to try and capture it. to trust you. do i look happier? i do i look a wreck?
oh yes, it's disappearing, did i sell it for you, like i so sold so much else? and i keep wondering, hoping, holding on - stuttering, starting - will it still be there, undercover [if when, or if?] this spell breaks, this fever breaks. is that all it is? it feels like an inescapable, encroaching madness. but i long to feel anything, to really feel. i am chasing you for that, because it feels real? do i mistake it to mean, that this, this is real?

Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

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