so this is summer
so this is summer
there's alcohol and everyone is dancing and the girls are getting drunk from
guys who intoxicatedly reach for their wallets cause
that's how it goes and they scream huddled words at each other that
seem so right but tomorrow the sun goes up again and no one
no one will remember how they poured their hearts out and
how the big revelation felt
so their realizations will be forever reocurring and ever and
ever again
and my friends are talking shit and I'm laughing, we're drunk all day
and there's music
and people
but I'm not entirely there
I saw you again.
And when I did it got at me with a pace and intensity
that is completely disproportional
You are as ever distant and ever gone as you were
and will be.
This small part in me, the mysterios little organ that
seeks to reverse that, that still wants you like shit
I want to pour wodka on it
Go away
Go away
Leave
In the morning I can at least rely on the certainty
of not hearing from you.
There is nothing vague about that.
Year after year after year it survives,
feeding from something beyond my grasp
The wild irrational animal.
So this is summer.
there's alcohol and everyone is dancing and the girls are getting drunk from
guys who intoxicatedly reach for their wallets cause
that's how it goes and they scream huddled words at each other that
seem so right but tomorrow the sun goes up again and no one
no one will remember how they poured their hearts out and
how the big revelation felt
so their realizations will be forever reocurring and ever and
ever again
and my friends are talking shit and I'm laughing, we're drunk all day
and there's music
and people
but I'm not entirely there
I saw you again.
And when I did it got at me with a pace and intensity
that is completely disproportional
You are as ever distant and ever gone as you were
and will be.
This small part in me, the mysterios little organ that
seeks to reverse that, that still wants you like shit
I want to pour wodka on it
Go away
Go away
Leave
In the morning I can at least rely on the certainty
of not hearing from you.
There is nothing vague about that.
Year after year after year it survives,
feeding from something beyond my grasp
The wild irrational animal.
So this is summer.