I said there will be no regrets when the worms come, and they will surely come.

Bad nights spent in bed,

it's either too cold or hot,

your heart is beating too fast

and you're so anxious,

so scared of being in your own room.

Your eyes feel so tight.

Please please please, just let me sleep.

Because, at the end, it's always time to leave.

I'm drifting.

This scares me so much,

and on some level I'm just waiting.

I probably won't cry when it happens.

Thin skin stretched too tight.

It begins and ends in silence.

And nights go on forever.

I wanted this to be a happy post,

but the longer I put it off,

the more thinking I could do.

This is what you get in the end.

*

So this is what I would have said, if happy.

You're a bed, warm blankets,

cool pillow under my cheek.

You're the smell after rain and

my well-worn shoes.

The build-up of that very first song,

lights burning after-images into your eyes,

guitars shrill in your ears,

your voice up high and loud,

we are all fucking kings tonight

and nothing can touch us.

A quiet book and contented silence.

You are all these things.

You know I've got some things to sing about.

Your voice sounds like it exists in my head.

It's reaching the darkest part of the night

and I can't keep my eyes open.

If you ask the right questions I'll say anything,

everything that I guard closely to my heart.

Like how you make me feel and

how much you mean to me.