(without the magic of intercepts)

My brain is a system blown on the back of graying stars (hidden in the magnetic rain and melody of the same sweet whispers of every night).

Revealing nothing but the familiar shell of a side-burned boy not so much immured in destiny as the belief that there are better things just so many miles away. tied in with kisses. buried under snow.

It's so simple to be a fool. so wonderfully perfect and blind to the weight of the world-weary scorn of those who've lost as much already, at least, and those who'll be forced to give up far more.

Even when i know they just might fucking be right.

I couldn't give a damn.