[insert day here]

isn't it perfect?
perfectly cliche
to recycle all our words this way
stranded on threads
clutching for a way
out a way to make me pay

and when i'm swearing to god,
i'm just asking you to believe in me
i'll start halfway to the end
just to come back to you

isn't it quiet?
quiet with honesty,
honestly you never said a word
that wasn't sealed with saliva
or of any consequence

so i'll start halfway to the end
just to come back to you
and when i swear to god
i'm really asking how to stay with you

this crawling, creeping, shaded sun
casts its grey across the room
it means too much to me,
it all means too much to me

everything cracks my sealed lines
like flexing fibers.