Oh, Locur. Dont you see? The shine of your hair, the paint on my sheets?
The wind going there, but feet right here.
Under your body, and standing on ground. Don't you see that love _is _found?
Beautifully made, crafted in time, ponders on thoughts, more than a dime.
We need this world, we love it too, Ofcourse there's more to do.
Look at the moon, the stars, the sky. Up so high, I wish I could fly.
To touch it there, share for a second straight, look at it so and make it rain.
Feel it so close, feeling so free, look at you, and look at me!
But oh no, woe is me, I've got caught up in all these trees.
In all these heights, in all these lights, all new things, and oh so bright.
Its seems my old life got boring. So whats the moral of the story?
Oh, locur.
Don't let yourself float away to the moon, or you’ll miss the flowers under your feet that bloom.
PLEASE LISTEN TO SAFEWORD BY TV GIRL DURING THIS.
The party was loud, bustling through the whole house. Your voice had to go up octaves to be heard as if you were whispering, and they loved it. They all did. It was all they wanted, for now. No matter what obstacle was at home, whatever trouble. They were safe in one of the most unsafe ways.
But it wasn’t them.
It had been going on for hours at this point, the air humid and filled with many (illegal) smells. A few people speed-walk out to the back and throw up, laughing and leaning their head on the wall for support. Each and every one of them go back to what they were doing to get themselves to that point, without a care.
But its not them.
Someone dropped a pill in that drink, spit in the other. Poured one on someones head, but the party didn’t stop because of it, like in the movies. Nobody noticed. No one notices when you’re a nobody. Because you always are. Who are you to 8 billion and growing?
But no.
It won't be them.
The song changes and everyone screams someone says ‘safeword’ and someone else ‘tv girl’. A girl pukes on him. A boy hits another. What is this?
What is this world?
the viewer, the judger and the judged gets up. When the door bursts open, its not them. When the music stops and all you can hear is the clink of handcuffs, its still, not them. When someone yells, its them, but just this once. And when the gun goes off. It was never them.
blue and red lights flash, but its not the police. Its just the consequences of someone else’s actions.
And their own.
But it was never them.
