It's not really finished ...

But I wanted to put something up.

Also, absolutely none of this is about suicide. No worries. Thankyouthatisall.

__________________________

It's too much at once, all too much at once,

I move a grain of salt and it's like

the moon moves closer and

oceans rise we can't believe

our eyes

deceive us, you see; I'm sorry.

Are there craters in grains of salt?

Are there men and faces and American flags and rabbits with

mortars I didn't order this.

Turns out you can't (apparently) just throw salt over your shoulder

when you're really throwing boulders,

they crash and burn and smolder

I'm sorry my breath makes the wind colder

sometimes,

we're all getting older

(... sometimes)

we've spent

some times

badly timed, fingertips to spines, guilt tastes salty

tonight

the moon, too close, casts faulty

waves -- expanding, demanding too much at once

just too much of us

I mean I think so anyway.

No, broken strings won't sound,

But I know I've written songs with and without them

And you know we gotta write our songs

Even if we're forced to shout them

Or whisper them to the moon,

Even if it's out of tune

It doesn't matter

We scatter grains of salt every day by the millions

I'd splatter my brains all over the chalkboards if I knew I'd never hurt anyone

Again.

You'd be pretty tired of it too, by the way,

less inspired by it too, by the way,

if you'd heard this same damn

heartbeat

playing on

repeat

since the day you were born it's

nothing new and I know you feel this too because

we find ways to dance,

like it or not,

when we only have one chance,

period.

Too much all at once, I'll shed salty tears for you and

hope I start to see the craters in them and

either way we'll both keep writing our songs

regardless of broken strings.