I come to tell you my secrets, but flip past all the petty minutia
until there's nothing left to say, unless I feel like walking
off the deep end that day,
If I start to talk to fill the space, I find myself watching my voice get higher
I grow removed, 'she always sounds hysterical when she's trying to say something'
I wish I knew how to talk to you, ask you things that cause you to spill
all the tiny details of what you do, what you think- why do you make your face
like that
Will you tell me things I don't know
If I'm quiet too long are you going to go away?
If I told you a story, would you be more interested
Do you know which parts are true and which parts fabricated
Maybe you just don't care to hear the ending?
(Would you know to say "but no story ever has a real ending, they always go on")
Would you know to seal it with a kiss
Or were you thinking something else?
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