Late night tracing the streets
Chasing the lights through the fog
Hold a breath and release
Swear by what they call wrong

Dark or light, there’s always a fog when it comes to you. A certain haziness that envelopes the space around you. I breathe it in. Hold it closer than I could ever hold you. You’re a constant conundrum. Comfortable but challenging; easy but exciting; frustrating but satisfying. Let the fog fill me as it surrounds me. I’ve always been drawn to the dark, to the wrong. I swear by it, and curse it simultaneously. Blame the twisted, morbid side of me that begs to balance out the sickly, sugar sweet that so often comes dripping from my lips. Cliche as fuck but what’s wrong really does feel so right. The bad, the good – the differentiation can be so fucking futile. Smoke swirls up from its glass house on the nightstand. Memories like pills, and powders take over my present thoughts. Justification versus just-say-no.  I’ve had ‘good’ feel bad, and ‘bad’ feel so damn good, and what’s wrong for you just might be right for me…

These bad habits, bad habits, bad habits
But we already know
What we are in for
So keep on driving slow
Together here alone

Drive slow or fast, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re racing headlong into something known, and unknown. Running purposefully parallel tracks that only intersect when we choose. Just as quickly as they merge they part ways again. Each time leaving a more jagged edge, and scraps of asphalt strewn. I know this road well enough to predict some of the highs, and lows, that come with this drive. The push, and pull that always happens with something [bad/good]. Push me down, to push up against me. Pull me in, to pull me under.

You don’t have to tell me
You don’t have to say a goddamn…
Take a hit, breathe it in, let it fill your lungs
Fill your lungs
Fill your lungs

It’s not that hard to figure out. It’s a mind game of my own making. Holding ’til you’re choking. Fill my lungs to fill my head, with smoke instead of thoughts. Thoughts of you that have no goddamn business being there. Bite my own lip. Pull my own hair. Fill my head with thoughts of my own. Sitting in that soothing suffocating silence. You can’t reach me here. The parts of me that crave you fade, and even if only for an inhale, melt to the back of my mind.

Eyes low, breathing in close
Watching them drift and dissolve
Killing time, spilling thoughts
Now is all that we want

It’s something I can’t put my finger on. Making it all the more of a mindfuck. Feeling so elementary with the who, what, why, where, and when of it all. Who the hell are you to have this grip on me, so soon, so unexpectedly. What the fuck is happening?WhyWhyWhy? Where did this come from? When does the [bad/good] turn all bad? Thoughts spill into my mind, but not from my lips. Those stay sealed, at least from spilling secrets of you, to you. When actually met with yours they hopelessly have a motive all their own. You’re here, I’m here – for now the fog feels fine. The convoluted confusion dissipates. Right now, all I want is you…

All of these streets are hollow
You don’t have to go just follow me
I need you near
I need you here
As long as you know

It’s a want, not a need. There’s nothing I need from you. But it doesn’t shake the want. It’s too bright here. Everything is visible. My reflection stares back at me. I can’t tell if it’s cheap glass, or mutation of the mind that has me looking so warped. So I close my eyes. Breathe in, and hold what my body would naturally want to reject. It clings, and stings. The way all [bad/good] things do. So fuck it. For now I’ll just breathe it in. Fill my lungs, and fuel my wants.

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