I stick to my sheets like failed reproduction.
Soaking up on slowing down and the only thing worse than being alone is when I'm not alone.
I am in love with what I've lost.
I do not want what I have got.
I release my weakness that flies feed from.
It never is anything until it's over.
Nothing is right but I can't find the wrong.

I always change my mind.
And if there is a need then I need it now.
Cause the closer we come the further I feel.
All of my love is collecting dust.
I'm shivering with loneliness.
An uncomfortable routine of staying somewhere in between lost and found.