Impromptu sporadic communication.
Chronic procrastination.
I miss her, and I see her every day.
Fear of the future.
Too close to be distant, but too distant to be close at the moment.

Love, love, love.
Disillusionment and skinhead haircuts.
Life rot and gunshots.

Too close to be a memory, but too subtle to be a tidal wave.
Revelations built from rocks and rubble
And space communications long past.

The world's a purple smoke cloud
From the Caterpillar's hookah
And drifting away so happily.

She's drifting away so loftily
Face red and eyes torn with tears cried
From sharp eyes too worn to read between the lines.
Like dull knives
Zig-zagging back and forth between stillborns, stilldeads and still lives.

Water drip drop down her face like Dali's clocks
Time running down, running out, filling up
A heart with a little hole, and little springs, and little teeth
Drowning in tears and time, but burrowing underneath
False hopes and opium dreams/
A love and lover with torn seams
Like a ragdoll that used to mean something to a little girl
Who wants to be grown up in an overly fucked up world.