Remember all those plans I made,
those things that seemed like me
remember me kicking up smoke and losing my senses
while you stayed awake to pray
Remember all those dreams I had
technicolour tuned to something better, I
had them for a breath and lost
left an empty shell of me
Remember the times you believed in me
when you believed it came naturally
you trusted a phasing moon, but
I was making impact craters,
ubiquitous and reckless
Was it flattery when you told me that
I finally seemed like me?
Or did you mean to say that
you resent what you hadn’t seen?
Was it true when you told me
it would take a force of nature,
a humbling sort of circus act
to be loved when I’m this way?
The art of spilling over 