well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold

gasoline by halsey

funny how i write about

ruined cities and sentient kitchen appliances
in my schoolwork
yet i fear to write about love and life

because those things are to sacred
for the censor it would need to be run through 
in order to make it out

and damn, 
i'm working on my depression
like maybe if i try hard enough
i can go home again 
and my eyes will open this time

but you'll never see this, 
and i can't bring myself to be sorry
because sometimes i'm not strong

i can't keep following fate

i mean, i'll never write about
the tilt of light on your eyes
(because you're a girl)

and i'll never write about 
the constriction
of my urge to bind
(because i'm not a girl)

so i hope 
all my inane thoughts
are good enough for now. 

The End

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