We're Nearly the Same

Please sleep tight
despite the lump in my voice tonight
There's eloquence
but who has time for that
my head's in revolution and
I couldn't get you caught up midway.
Admittedly this is pre-decided
it's whether or not I give my all
or how to approach
something with so much hope
something I could invariably adore
but not without giving away
little pieces of me some more.

I question if there's any left
since I don't make myself known
except when looking back
in fucking strength at what
i've done alone
but still that's nothing like what it used to be
now I love 'me',
because I have to
and that isn't knowledge
that feels warm or fuzzy.

From tiny midday thoughts,
to something so desperately concrete
he's done it again
congratulations in defeat
I have socks but still
I have such cold feet.
Maybe I like making art
more than actually understanding what I mean
there's a beauty in sadness
that can't be found in-between
any sorts of pleasantry
sweetened caffeine
of nights spent up
but travelling down
bellow the lenses that shadow the kaleidoscope
hoping to hell we're an isotope.