sometimes

its the air that makes it unbearable to breathe
around you, around you, around you
unable to move, unable to see, but still able to care
around you, around...around...around

i can always stare into the sky
and figure out a million clichés
to say to you to keep you safe
while i'm miles away no where near enough
to say that you're safe
but you are, are you?

i've had a constant that never fails
never making sense, confusion has become my niché
and i'm okay with it (am i okay with it?)


sooner or later i will make sense
more later than sooner if the world ends