Eyes The Size Of Baby Worlds

OHOP laughter. Suicidal squirrels and abuse from a pancake covered in hair. We still have it. We've decided that breakfast is more than dangerous so next time we're sleeping in.

I'm sensing some antidote in the way the world has been speaking to me. But I'm all heart with these fingers stuck in my ears. Playing scenes from my childhood so loud that I can't hear what has happened to me.

If I'm a catch then they're just a net with a hole in it. I tried fitting in and I stood out; tried standing out and I blended in with the walls. I finally found myself and now no one notices me unless I make a scene. I have become the voice of a wanna-be story teller and a natural born traitor. Ghostwriting hits, written for my Misses.

Sometimes I wonder if they think about giving up on me when they see the moon in the afternoon. I have given up on myself too many times to count. You could trade mistakes for sheep and count me away forever at night... but you don't. Thanks for never giving up on me.... even when you truly should have.

And most of this incoherent thought is just being wasted on whether it will mean more to stay or to go. Currently learning the art of speaking in Parseltongue.