He says, you’re too much
Too much for me
I say too much for who?
Who’s counting the days
Of the week, of the month
Who’s counting the ways in which I spin you around and go faster, faster
A wishing well in a forest
Where we retrieve our Holy water
Where we feed upon our golden sweet nectar
Smooth like crushed cherries
Smoke thin like remnants of berries
I tell you, you’ve got bad lungs boy and you’re making them worse
You make bad decisions
He says “Are you one of them?”
I skip around and smile
It’s a no, for sure
Of course
Without a doubt
I’m the cherry on the cake
I’m that look you get from someone flirting with you
I’m your favorite piece of clothing fresh out of the dryer
I can take you higher and higher
If you let me
That is, if you let me
And I’m not quite sure you do
And that’s your fault, and my pain
I don’t exist for my own gain
It’s a challenge to go off course
But she who wears pink dresses must prevail
And to far lands of mystery and chaos she’ll set sail
Talking about myself in third person is growing stale
I’m comatose
I lost my keys and they’re not behind the couch
I bought a plantain lily and I don’t know the right growing conditions for it
I sometimes think I’m a mess but then I remember that my father once told me that I’m the best
My father once told me that I’m the best
And God is good
Land is free
And my father is always right
I’m the best
