Math Magic Land.
I'll go to bed in ten minutes
I said that ten minutes ago.
I'm not allowed to want for anything, and I can't figure out why I can't stop talking to you, or why you don't believe me when I say I'll miss you.
And I'm not allowed to feel anything because you're not real, and I haven't looked at you, and I haven't. I'm not allowed.
And I'm angry that I delete things. And I'm pissed that I feel like finally I can admit to listening to what I listen to, or doing what I do, or saying what I say, and you don't care or you do care, the right way. I'm mad that I've got nothing to go on here, and I'll get no leads from you.
It's not fair that I keep things out, and I stopped listening to myself because it doesn't matter how many times I talk myself down off of the edge, I keep going back to look at the lights.
But that's all I can do. Look at the lights. I'm not allowed.