Before I know it, I'm backtracking all the horrible things I've said. We just keep scratching each other, and before we know it we might be dead. At least that's better than living with out pronunciations.
I've gathered all the vases and filled them with the flowers you've sent to me. There are purple and yellow ones, green ones speckled pink. They smell sweet, but I was always sure the aroma was just covering something up. I felt like when the wind blew, I could still smell the rotting flesh.
It's just you and me, isn't it? Who else do I have? When they start spray-painting this town, it'll be our profiles as the only ones standing. An emptiness of anything behind us because we've always been blocking the sun. That's how it will be.
For now, we're hiding here. Deep in this willow tree. I can feel its branches protecting me. Scraped knees and bruised eyeballs never made much a difference of this. Its branches sweep out stretch out, touching the water below, and we're almost not hungry anymore. A deep hymn comes from the back of your throat and then, swiftly, smoothly, we jump.
The water is a cold surface waiting for our return. We slide in through the surface, growing wetness across our skin. My hair wraps itself around me, but I feel like I'm existing in the entire body of water.
Your hand grasps my arm and you're asking me to follow. Together, we wave our arms and disappear down into the depths, sinking deeper and deeper. Before long, my eyes are pulled together in a squint as I stare down into the dark. Fear grabs a hold of me, wrapping around my arms and I can barely move. Your face glows in front of me and you tell me this is where we have to go.
It is as I swim farther that I see the strange blue light glowing, encompassing the dots that exist around me. I turn and look back, and it's strange that it seems darker than the deep we are headed to. I swim forwards, the cold rippling my skin, the pitch black wrapping its ugly hands around my neck and pulling me in.
There's no afraid to hear. The Mayans said the calendar would start over, and I am positive it shall. It's the only thing that keeps me going. It's the only thing that keeps me swimming. We're headed into an abyss and we're all sinking, but only a few of choose to keep swimming.
You and I can be them. It's before long that we realize where we are, and we see the roots of the willow tree.
Here, you tell me, we are finally home.
I've gathered all the vases and filled them with the flowers you've sent to me. There are purple and yellow ones, green ones speckled pink. They smell sweet, but I was always sure the aroma was just covering something up. I felt like when the wind blew, I could still smell the rotting flesh.
It's just you and me, isn't it? Who else do I have? When they start spray-painting this town, it'll be our profiles as the only ones standing. An emptiness of anything behind us because we've always been blocking the sun. That's how it will be.
For now, we're hiding here. Deep in this willow tree. I can feel its branches protecting me. Scraped knees and bruised eyeballs never made much a difference of this. Its branches sweep out stretch out, touching the water below, and we're almost not hungry anymore. A deep hymn comes from the back of your throat and then, swiftly, smoothly, we jump.
The water is a cold surface waiting for our return. We slide in through the surface, growing wetness across our skin. My hair wraps itself around me, but I feel like I'm existing in the entire body of water.
Your hand grasps my arm and you're asking me to follow. Together, we wave our arms and disappear down into the depths, sinking deeper and deeper. Before long, my eyes are pulled together in a squint as I stare down into the dark. Fear grabs a hold of me, wrapping around my arms and I can barely move. Your face glows in front of me and you tell me this is where we have to go.
It is as I swim farther that I see the strange blue light glowing, encompassing the dots that exist around me. I turn and look back, and it's strange that it seems darker than the deep we are headed to. I swim forwards, the cold rippling my skin, the pitch black wrapping its ugly hands around my neck and pulling me in.
There's no afraid to hear. The Mayans said the calendar would start over, and I am positive it shall. It's the only thing that keeps me going. It's the only thing that keeps me swimming. We're headed into an abyss and we're all sinking, but only a few of choose to keep swimming.
You and I can be them. It's before long that we realize where we are, and we see the roots of the willow tree.
Here, you tell me, we are finally home.
