its five in the morning and we're waiting for the sun to rise on our side. ive long forgotten what it feels like to have the morning grasp my face and kiss away the nights painfullly perfect imperfections. the first rays of sun look almost enchanting against what few colors you can muster up in your eyes and im really trying to sustain whats left of them. youve got a look of gray on your face and i wish you knew i could paint it over with blacks and blues and stars and sunsets that just seem to sparkle more when ive swallowed them while youre pressed hard on my lips.

       its twelve in the middle of the day and ive been searching for you with a small hope that youd appear like a mirage out of some desolate mind and tangled, webbed heart. in some bottomless chasm soul, i know it'd be better to let you sink into the sands like an artifact from yesterday, but for some reason you just seem worth digging up, if only to be covered by sands and oceans and stars the next morning.

              its six in the middle of twilight and im dancing through the sunset like Ursa Minor, untamed and uncatchable by any human hands but yours. youve torn through my skies with a vodka-covered paintbrush, splattering the scene with reds and blues and anything to truly get your point across without cutting away your sentimentality or better judgement.

                      it's twelve in the middle of the night and the stars are twinkling for the remnants of our broken amnesty. we've long lost sight of Polaris like a milky white iris against some faded dream. a childlike mind would perceive us as something akin to a broken promise, rings shattered into sunsets and mountains. maybe that's all we are.

its five in the morning, and we're wating for something, anything that isn't us.