It's in and out of me, quick and slow, like bad sex.
It's the sweater I hid myself in when I'm lonely and exhausted.
It's the mistakes on me.
The pursuit of my memory
Take me under.
The anxiety slipping into me.
Through my fingers, my hair,
Flowing like a river down my heart strings.
The dark things, the scary things
That consume me,
Act as dust in my pores.
Always in me, sometimes deep, sometimes never too close.
I can't turn back, so release me.
If anyone watches everything,
They shouldn't always forgive.
The philosophy of me, and all of its theories,
Run down my spine, in and out, quick and slow like bad sex.
Bad sex in the sunny winter,
All back and forth at the same time.
Always, always at once