I ve lied awake too many times to count,
I ve tied a knot around conversations I can do without.
we ve erected this structure in the form of architecture
to prove our design is (as) a fallacy (and its inclined to fail).
there s this fine line I ve seemed to draw myself between
wine and water.
cheaters and liars.
so i rely on the hours i spend asleep at the wheel
or idle moments without sleep to give us all the sanctity we need,
to spark a fire in their eyes.
in an attempt to rewrite the names of thousands whose messages have been lost in the airwaves:
I ve cut this broadcast short,
And danced to the humming static.

I ve found today that my reflection has gained some sort of reflex in the way i cringe at my lines that seem to curve at the wrong places and end in junctions i would ve never thought possible even for the twisted roads in this town. conversation echoes all around me like a thousand beautiful words all being screamed at once, all of them make sense, but cold to the touch. I ve found you, the vector, my lovely flaw in architecture, you toppled the firmaments of a stained glass cathedral, whose followers are devoid of faith, but only come here to collapse and pray that this isn t happening.

[No this can t be happening
and time stops.
and we take our last breaths, but its more of a sigh.]

and gravity sings to me,
some dissonant elegy:
"wont you come down?.
we'll turn this world around.
just burn your wings.
and fall back down".

wont you dance with me? to the music playing in our heads? don t you think we'll remember this moment laying sleepless on our beds? and on our backs, were we found the notion to brave the things we lack. if you were only here now i swear this November sky would give out and crash down on us. and we wouldn t have it any other way.

In this day and age of icons and iconoclasts,
an allusion to a history we once thought of as past,
passed us by faster than the days we call the best times of our lives.
i should embrace bottles and youth,
but ignorance is a virtue of which I ve never had the privilege to bear,
but they consider word of mouth the best excuse for lore.

so we let the music ring out.
like broken harp strings tuned to perfection.
lie awake, its all you have left
sleepless nights confined in the sanctity of your ignorance.

and time stops.
and we take our last breaths.
and we wouldn t have it any other way..