shake it up baby, now

it's rushing and rolling out of me and into the air.
sleeping and living and slow moving and losing out
the sound is awake and, although lights are low
i don't need to hear it,
i mean i really, really don't.
it's like somehow the lack of solidity leaked into me
and i am locked away too, i don't want this -
i have what i have, too
maybe i have missed

that desolation is intoxicating.
so i'm wired, hey
all over the shop

warmth is warmth is not here
3 hours, 7 hours, 30 minutes
it's shifting and inconsistent it is a mirror image
it tells you how your mind is moving through the space around it
it breathes you in and you forget and you have it all laid out delicately on a non-existent surface
so it just falls through and lands on nothing
into nothing
and by the time it gets there the order has changed and this will happen again again again
yes i don't understand
yes i am okay
yes i care
no i don't want this
yes i missed

tangles
tangles
twists and shuddering and birth and shadows
that grimace scares me if i am completely honest
and weak
confusion has reached a new peak, i am impressed as the other
i marvel at it, even. but it doesn't quite deserve applause.

missed

and all of a sudden it is achingly cold again
i know it's the beginning and warmth is warmth is
not something i can provide
it's not my shoulders, it's these feet
now that is a lie.
i don't ever wanna feel
like the only string between the next place and this
but of course.
i couldn't possibly understand, and therein lies the same old headfuck.

yeah, yeah. it's whatever you make it i guess. what else am i supposed to say
i have no say in the matter but i speak like i will not have another chance to and the words and thoughts wind themselves into each other and what else can i say
they'll end up in the same (dis)place
as the destructive urge
as the hollow tone
as the self-forming miraclemachine
whose name is inappropriate
whose name pushes you away as it drags you
whose name is down, down
in the misplaced dawn
in the core that still won't still
in the awkwardly locked fingers dig them in
now
now
2 hours, 5 hours, 30 minutes

you can't take me with you and you can tell yourself whatever it might be
you think and you observe and your loss is not my gain
don't tell me again
don't ask me again
i have nothing for you
as it becomes an offering
i don't know
maybe it's a question
or a challenge and if you take it and win then there you go
nothing
return return to

layers peel off and smothering and breathing shallow and gone
so
so
so
far gone

shake it off, baby
now
it's not for your shoulders or your feet
it's not enough ever and even if it was you still could not
it's not you
it's your self
it's not you
it's your suffocating sadness

what am i supposed to say?
it's more than one facet of guilt
even when even when
you are right
even when
it's nothing
no promises, i mean, meow
but

yeah. i got nothing.

yeah.