don’t know where i’m headed:

but maybe all these roads, sidewalks, rooftops, fire-escapes, subways, and cities are just sticky songs pulled out of our lungs, skylines riding on the arcing spine of choruses, beats, crescendos, braggadocios, like cheesy shit, like new order, like every time I see you falling I drop down on my knees and pray, like things that’ll annoy and make you feel like all your nerves are microphones and your whole body is one soju filled karaoke bar... but you won’t care, you’ll just dance.

and maybe there’s a home to words, sidewalks mixed and poured out of hellos, how are yous? i snapped a see you out of someone’s lips and forged a boat out of it, clutched a good bye someone gave me and wore it as a track jacket home.

what i mean is: i think we live with what’s said, dream with what’s not.