The air swims around me, thick. Thick like the blood chugging on through my veins. Thick like thieves. Basically the same thing. Time is running out for us. The clock-piece cogs are falling all over Brooklyn while my father tells me all my dreams are drowning, which is ironic, this being a dream and all. A life wasted for the want of some sort of reaction. Nuclear, to be clear here. Platonic always sounded like something that glows green anyway, right? Something cancer-causing. This doesn’t mean a thing. Hospitalize me for the way I think, suffocate me in medicine and bleach white sheets. This isn’t me. Will someone tell everyone this just isn’t me, please? Glass shatters strong when it hits the streets. Silver timepiece broken, stopping everything. Wake me up. I need the secrecy of her smoky bedroom. I need the sweet smell of her skin. I need to shake myself awake to those bright brown eyes and curly blonde hair. Someone pinch me please.
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