Maybe it's poetry, or they're rants; thoughts tangled together trying to escape my lips all at the same time. I have too much to say, I thought I should write it down, answer some things, clear up mumbled words I said behind my own back. Finally write down the answer, the meaning to that dream I had last night, or, get lost once again in the web of those same images; during R-E-M, the pictures that float behind closed eyelids and THERE... there it is. My lips move and form a new question; lets start from the beginning, shall we...?
A boy once told me tea was best made with milk, I told him he was crazy, he told me he'd make me crazy. Honey, maybe if I put sugar in your tea, soothing to the throat, you'll swallow your words and call me by my name as you pour milk in mine.
Do you see it? Do you see the way you smile? I do, spreading to the corners of your eyes, to the vines around us all, the earth holding your heart; stone, glistening as rain drops splatter. The thing is, I've been staring at you, my vision seems to blur the longer I stare; white, pale, a ghost standing right in front of me and I can't see you entirely, especially around all these people in black.