my screens smell like smoke

*tapping my index to the bpm of waves outside*

Left right, left right,
left right, left right.
Frankly, this tempo is driving me crazy.
Sorry, I was running back and
forth across my sentences
and (honestly) never checking if it was
right to cross them in the
first.place.
2nd, I find it unfair
how she’s allowed to lay next to me and
explore her subconscious without me. It feels
selfish to only occupy my mind
when I want to live in yours.
How have I never been questioned on the cost of the world?
How have I never realized how much I wanted it?
When I’m lucid, I’m haunted by
houses hiding liminal spaces.
I descend as death grips from the
up-side-down ceilings of stairs.
For some reason, the devil
won’t stop doing the tango on my shoulders
with a recent daydream of mine;
you have to understand how natural my feet were moving in a pitch black room,
while
simultaneously
being
so
exhausting.
By the end of most nights,
I question the fun of living in reality
when I’ve spent my day trying to alter it.
I guess I never really calculated the
gravitational pull each of my words have.

---

I drown out the world with music but it’s me being drowned out.