you're getting closer, to pushing me off of lifes little edge,
[...]
you're getting closer, you're holding the rope...i'm taking the fall...


who, or what, are you? what am i pushing myself against? or from? why...is it just innate, or maybe i'm just blind..
it'll never be over, will it? despite all odds, i'll always find some reason to insist on sitting outside, in the rain. i may find home, but i will wish it was impossibly the same as it was...i may find peace, but i'll complain incessantly about how the sky is just the wrong shade of purple...

why can't i find your arms, and just sleep...