You have your View and I have you. That is hardly fair, I agree, what kinda trade off is that, really. I suppose neither of us is real happy with our respective status quo.

I have your voice stuck in my head; it’s alive and kicking, can’t get it out. You have my heart in the palm of your hand, it is still warm. Your fist clenching and unclenching, your throat pulsating then constricting but you won’t throw it away.

Your voice in exchange for my heart and all the softness in between, well now that’s really unfair.

Rituals of our Failure making us fail even more, and fail still. Everything needs to be reddened; I agree no need to disagree. But how do I know you are truly tangible now, does music have weight?

It’s simple, you possess all the colors, you have all the butterflies, all that left me with is you, wringing your empty hands in the air.

You have all the watery smiles and I have you. How fucking unsatisfying is that?

The small concession is that at least I know how to spell your name right, cashmere cat, your full name.

But what good is a name? You can’t eat it, no matter how wicked.

I don’t care if all this is fake, keep me in your undertow and hold my head under water.

You were right all along, we are lucky to be alive.