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I don't know where I'm going (Skate) But I know what I'm showing (Four)
Feelings, that's what I'm pouring (Skate) What the fuck is your motive? (Four)
Tyler was sure the male was trying to kill him. This feeling was a fix of a drug he could not name, This must have been a dream. An illness the mysteries man in his heart planted and wanted to kill him with. They had gone sightseeing again that day, lazily skating between parked cars and watching the water push everything in and out of the bay under the bridges. These feelings were not slow or patient. They came in waves. Always demanding, always wanting something from him. If this what love was he was right all along. It was pain, it was ache and any other word that could describe how he utlimately felt under the dumb summer sun.
With these feelings, everytime he saw the other came the feeling of him sinking wheels first into quicksand. These feelings tore him up and were tiring to him. Every hang out session, every week, every second of them together brought Tyler closer and closer to asking him what he wanted from him all together. He felt like he was being held hostage by a boy with a gun who knew how to make him smile so well and make him laugh at nothing. He was scared. No, not scared. Terrified.
Along with these pressing timeframes came witht the slowly reaccuring fact that him and this boy could not fall in love. They could never be together and Igor could never save him from this burning alive feeling. He had school and the skatepark and there was an imaginary girlfriend and popularity the other boy was always missing out on when with Tyler. These feelings were his worry, his underlying faults and imperfections.
