you still make me drop dead a little, truth be told. i don’t have much breath to breathe, stop hoarding all the oxygen and everything will be a-okay, you’ll see, i’ll be free and the thunder will dampen and the rain may lighten up, who knows, maybe morning will come and the sky will be yellow, maybe someday you and i can go out to breakfast or maybe to the park and we’ll forget the turmoil we put each other through in order to realize that we only work when our legs are not entwined, we see now how bodies can deceive and hearts can take control of mind and how all we will ever boil down to is one drunk on his computer wailing to the keyboard about how the other is sleeping somewhere, paying little mind to the hurricane at hand.
