Late is too early when you don’t know how to breathe.
Questions become the food we eat.
The single thought of you stealing my tongue makes me want to rain all over you.
Life packed into Little bags willing to go deeper than life itself in the labrynth that keeps on asking
“when am I going to be sure?”
“when am I going to be sure?”
Celebrations turn red in the land of vegetables.
IQ means nothing when it comes to living the magnet of life coming true.
My best friend became time because he’s always offering me a change of face, that face that never tells me what happened before I wanted to know…
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