love won’t sleep
When you find yourself driving head first into the storm, there’s
going to be a less severe version of yourself in the passenger seat
screaming DO YOU EVER STOP MAKING BAD DECISIONS
and the thunder is going to roar back NOT WHEN THEY LOOK
THIS GOOD. And the thunder is just a metaphor for a boy whose
heart doesn’t beat even half as loud, and the storm is just a mess
of circumstance. You see the shape of California in the side mirrors,
taunting you with how objects are closer than they appear. Like,
yeah, keep personifying distance but don’t forget to mention that
she’s got a matching pair of daggers ready. You keep talking like
you’re outside your body, like that makes up for your lack of empathy.
Keep asking yourself why you have to break everything made up of
glass – the windows / the mirrors / the coffee table. Say, I think
this is what cracking my bones would sound like. Say, I don’t think
my heart can keep taking it. Say, if I destroy it I never have to
worry about loving it.