I stick to my sheets like failed reproduction

Soaking up on slowing down and the only thing

worse than being alone is when I'm not alone.



I am in love with what I've lost.

I do not want what I have got.



I release my weakness that flies feed from.

It never is anything until it's over.



Nothing is right but I can't find the wrong.

I always change my mind.

And if there is a need then I need it now.

Cause the closer we get the further I feel.



All of my love is collecting dust.

I'm shivering with loneliness.



An uncomfortable routine of staying

somewhere in between lost and found.