Ever

I write these words as if I wasn't myself
Pungent and distracted my own fumes give me taste
If I wasn't so in love what love I would make
But the substance of my structure is so entirely fake

I'm not tired because I'm so unhappy
I've taken some time to think about me
And I'm not happy with what I see
I'm a mess so shallow and unclean

Slowly slowly we breathe away
This air is so abundant that my lungs scream joy
It's a shame that the sun is only here in the day
Boredom breeds a foetus so thoroughly decayed