In my dreams
it comes;
the thing I flee.
It feels me recede,
like a low tide being dragged
by an envious moon.
Love only looks for me when I leave,
and I am all out of goodbyes.
Insomnia always did suit my eyes.
All black and blue beaten by the truth;
that we are helplessly tied
by these invisible threads.
Felt only by the heart
and always fucking with my head.
The strings that coil and entwine
and bind you to these dreams of mine.
Do I dream of you
because you pull
on the other end of that line?
Tethered so tender to the softest parts of me.
How I’ve tried to sever the strings
and stop all of it,
cause I ain’t no ones puppet.
But I have yet to learn
how to kill the things I can’t see.
– ian gallows