No more promises to go to bed earlier
No more making up meaning for the mess on the floor,
No more pages all across my desk.
No more of the big clothes to hide what I don't have.
No more burying myself in those goals I made.
It's all just piling up under me,
Pushing me up toward the sun,
And the longer I wait, the more I think it'll go away.
But really, the longer I wait,
The more it gets worse.
From what I remember, it was born growing.
It was born hot, expanding, glowing,
And the people were made of gold
and of fire.
And it kept growing, it kept burning hot, bright,
"So I was in English class, right," said the kid, "and the bell rang, and while I was switching classes, I got super thirsty, so I stopped at the water fountain, but then I remembered that this fountain is out of order and the only other one is in
I walled myself in with paper three days ago. I used my old fashioned-blow torch to melt the door of my office shut, and pressed my desk and my chair up against it.
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