Giving You What You Need.

You're asking for words about you, words for you, and I laugh and think how silly. You're already buzzing in my head, already living in my life, already lingering in my bed. It's been days now and I'm afraid you won't stop fading, will you quit fading? Because even when you're around you leave, and always, so quickly. I feel like a toy, used- or is it aa watch, when left unwound? Maybe that's why when we lay down with intent to sleep, your arm around me, there's no way I could ever slip into unconsiousness; I don't want to miss a moment that you're in, sticking around.

 And at night, after the lights have gone and the neighborhood is silent, you come to me, with something in your eyes. There was something in my eyes, and you said you knew I loved you, you saw it in my eyes. But you came to me, laid your arms around me knees, and had your will. [ Do what you will.] So then there are the words I fight to say, the ones I shouldn't say, and the ones I regrets, spoken out of haste. Sleepiness washes over you, and you leave. You leave and I feel differently, like I've been filled of something and things are better. Better.

 Tonight, in exchange of music and cigarettes and friends and old neighborhoods, I'll choose words. Words I have promise myself all day long, to pen down, words you've been asking for. The thing is, they're not escaping easily. Maybe it's because I need something else said, not something for you.

 You're not supposed to give me everything I could possibly need, you know. But I'll take anything you're willing to offer.