SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF

angelic but still not good enough, your spine peeks through your weekend’s best. i never needed this, but still i let you tell me things that might as well be taking me to places that i’ve always feared, i’ve never been but i just have a feeling that it’ll be the end of me. but if there even is a way out of all of this, I’m sure you would have thought of it, I’m sure you would have rubbed it in my face, because you’re just that fucking wonderful. but don’t you worry, there’s more to it than becoming something you always wished you were, a mirror staring into all of this seventeen and no regrets. now I’m asking for some sympathy, but not for you to speak to me, i just can’t see you moving lips when I’m too busy locking them with the nerve that i never had, mostly the courage you never let me taste. and now you’re busy locking hips while malignant songs of moral regret  strum a familiar melody. these are the things that catch my eye, but if you ever open yours, you’ll see that you were wrong, you finally realize now what everyone else knew all along.

you’ll still find my songs predicable but who are you to sing along? i never asked for your attention. and hey, this isn’t about you, it’s about the things i let myself accept from your awful example at being alive. i’ll find myself asleep tonight, content with rhymes and blurry thoughts, but all thats ever kept me breathing, is knowing that i’ve lived it like you’ve only dreamed.