Please don’t paint me promises.

For I have nowhere to hang them.
White walls
I prefer to leave blank.
Void of any depiction of far away lands that I may or may not get to see.
When I hang a picture I can’t help but hang my hopes up with it.
They always end up slightly crooked, but strung too high for me to reach out and fix.
Then they sit and stare at me.
And I start to yearn for them to swallow me up.
But they don’t.
They can’t.
Because they’re just paintings.
Nothing real.
And I'm always left feeling so achingly disappointed.

So please don’t paint me promises
I prefer to keep my walls blank.

I got my boots laced up tight and i guess that means i got somewhere to go,
But im nailed to the wall.
Legs bounce and dance eager to get it on but i cant rip myself from this frame.

I decorate this place every weekend a peice of modren art, weird,
Whats it mean to you

The whiskey glazed sunrise hit my bleary eyes and water poured from my face and i tried desperatly to keep it from watering my roots, i dont want to be anchored to this room
I want to float.

Cirrus clouds above could hold my damaged head and the albatross criss cross contrails and sing just for me i might finally sleep.

But i tap my feet, three times, close my eyes and im still here. Mouths motion mourning and id decipher the damage but my codex is broken, the language spoken is one unfamiliar and the toll for imagining somethings wrong is something finally is.

If i said everything's fine could you pick up on that lie?
Maybe drop me a line, static in my ears cotton in my lungs yes im on the porch contimplating bugs.

If i dont make sense its because i just dont.
Its simple,
I might be manic corrosive, eating litmus paper and dreading christmas.

She may no longer be yours,
but take comfort
for you can always
smell her in the rain.
The type of rain that softens,
that blurs,
that quells the city.
And you can think to yourself;

‘my soul is drenched in you’