you and i know a world without warmth, a world without colour. we're constantly scrambling to find purpose plates on forgotten billboards and looking to the wrong people for the right message.
i think about it a lot, how desperate we are to find life in raw form when we instigate authenticity against its nature with our demands. the wicked have a funny way of looking at things because perspective can easily be turned into something vile against its intention.
you and i have known the same people but we have experienced different souls. is it you see a collective shining of their hunger and i see but the crawling of their misfortune at the foot of what holds them captive?
we have dirty matter on our palms and we call it the left-behinds of love. is it because in the grand scheme of things, that's all kids like us can hold in our hands without being scared? but you challenge that. one night with Frank Ocean in our peripheral, you and i knew a world where subject matter like that was too scary to encounter, too prolific to frequent. so we'd talk about destruction and faith and the stories we could relate.
said i knew a boy who hid a girl in his chest cavity because he was too scared to show her his heart if ever it wasn't home enough. said you knew a girl with a broken penchant for lullabies and dirty fingers picking apart boys to make them demons for story times.
we both know the same anatomy but we've disembodied different bones. you and i know a world without tranquility, a world with loops for ends, and i'm too scared to say that it is for this reason kids like us are too rotten to make do and make amends.
