seventeen.

his guitar string breaks,
he keeps playing.
she does not want to leave,
i do not want to sleep,
but somehow we both do.
she sees so clearly some things
and yet falls into traps,
she has grace, lacks wisdom,
but often that comes with years.
she feels but cannot find,
such is the fate of a few.
his heart is at home, but he has been lost,
or maybe it's the other way around.
maybe we are all brain-dead in the sense that
we are so sure of ourselves yet all at once falling to pieces.
we paint our stories in black,
maybe they are color.
i can be so confident,
but my mind undecided.
spin me around in circles, dizzy my thought process,
maybe my priorities will level out again.
he speaks, and everyone listens
except for himself.
he does not know his worth,
they are the same in that sense.
i must numb one part of myself,
i must create bittersweet,
i must live a contradiction,
i must keep playing.

and you are impossible for me to reach;
some things are alright to be.