I don’t know if I should be feeling this way,
I don’t know what way it is either.
It’s 3 am and you are still stuck in my head.
It’s 3 am and I don’t want you in my head.
You cripple my thoughts and now my sleep.
Maybe you could just let me go for once.
No you’re not the one who slashed my heart apart.
I am solemnly responsible for the blades I lend.
Sometimes you see the world out there,
The world once claimed so gigantic,
But all it ever made you feel was a tiny douche bag.
Maybe you really couldn’t read what’s inside the lining,
Or maybe you are just attracted to coatings.
In my chaos I let you paint my canvas,
And you aren’t even halfway there.
Now I’m still here trying to figure out the anchors to my soul.
The way you’ve gravitated that ball of lava towards me is awe pleasing.
I did shoot for the wrong goal,
But at the end of the day all I ever wanted was a goal.
My head revolves around these dots that never want to join.
I could sum you up in a metaphor,
But I think that would be selfish.
I could write you in a book,
But then even the pages would be tired of this misery.
I could cry this out aloud,
But no I’m in good books with the sea.
Perhaps the only thing I could do
And all I ever did was bottled you up, so tight.
Yes you, my 3 AM feeling.