Selfish is easy, easier than you might even think,
Smoking and drinking, aimlessly, carelessly,
And it always makes you think you’re on a brink
Of losing your head, your normalcy.
Repeat of repeats, binge living and watching,
Like being stuck on a carousel of feelings,
Where people keep on taking in the brainwashing.
We’re all just poor, trashy, weaklings.
There’s nothing more you love than dreaming wide awake,
It’s like a whole galaxy hides in your eyes,
And whenever you blink a new one gets born.
The fire in you is warm and peaceful,
Like your arms are home, and your heart is not deceitful,
And you taste like coffee in the evening,
And smell like love in the morning,
And isn’t that exquisite?
As if you’ve planted your courage in me and gave me wings,
And now everything tastes like summer and feels like swings.
How are words easy, the soul’s uneasy,
With touches so cheesy,
Swipes of left and right so breezy,
Tell me is it worth it
To set everything on fire,
Like a hit man for hire,
Slashing my tire,
Making me tired,
Making me feel like everything I desired
Was uninspired.
How are your words so uneasy,
My soul is easy,
And now everything is breezy
Again.
Choices like candles,
With cuts and scratches,
And maybe above all the handles,
With songs that light up the matches.
And yes, above all I can’t handle
The things you do when you don’t do
What I want you to do.
For all the times when my body wasn’t mine,
Please remember
I was just a vessel,
A pathway to something better.
I had room to grow,
I was still this cookie dough
That legends talk about.
All I could do was
Resist and pout.
Now I’m not better,
And I’m not worse either.
I’m the same vessel,
With a little more stuff in me.
I still have room to grow,
And will probably do so
Until there’s no more room left.
Then this vessel won’t be as deft,
And things will spill,
And that’ll no longer be a skill.
Spillage becomes louder,
Spillage becomes death.
Spillage becomes chowder,
That’s when I’ll lose my breath.
And I always thought life was hard,
Demanding,
Tiring,
Upsetting even.
Some mornings were definitely difficult,
And some nights were sleepless,
My body was not my own,
My thoughts were not the best,
And yet I’ve powered through.
We’ve powered through it all.
We thought there’s going to be more time
To reach to where we want to be,
To go to all the places we want to see,
To feel all of the love we want to feel.
The truth is simple, hard, demanding,
Tiring, even upsetting.
The only time we have left is now.
We can’t go back and change the past,
We can’t go forward and fix what we don’t know.
And day by day, and night by night,
We draw in breath; we draw in life.
There is no dark, there’s only light,
The death is silent, no more strife.
And it took me ages to get home,
In a city I would’ve never thought I’d call home.
This is where magic happens,
Where I’m equally invisible and very observable,
Where you could walk without getting anywhere,
Where you could go without getting somewhere,
But where places are home everywhere.
You can walk on the Southbank,
Imagining how it feels to swim down the river,
Or you could go south the Thames, where all the fancy people live.
You can walk through Camden
And taste the wild side,
Or go to the museums and galleries,
And find that life is on the palm of your hand,
Listening to you, feeding you, tasting you…
I know I’m home now; I’ve stopped missing myself.