bring me the horizon.

i. I use you like ugly words meaning pretty things on my tongue to make the mockingbirds jealous and jealous they are. You make me forget about the earthquakes waiting to happen beneath my feet and you pull me past the rough tree bark of your skin. You make me believe in osmosis and that one day we'll get close enough to the stars to bend down and pick them up like daisies. You make me believe in the definition of tomorrow.

ii. Everyone is caught up on clotheslines hung with yesterday's wet jeans and overdue bills. Somehow you managed to dance footloose across the top like a tightrope walker and string me along into whatever world you came from or are going to.

iii. You want to be like the sunrise, with palms outstretched and embracing the world. You told me I was the sunset, because I was much more beautiful and lingered longer, like the taste of dark chocolate on a winter night. I knew that you preferred sunrise because you would never want to be consumed by darkness.

iv. In two weeks you will climb curtains and tree branches and whisper to the hollows of your bones to tell yourself that you can fly. Before you do though, you will tell me that sometimes pretty words mean ugly things, you will tell me that your heart has a fever of a hundred and three. You will tell me that you weren't scared of the sun setting, you were just waiting for darkness to welcome you first.

You will tell me that when the sun sets, the moon will be there to make me believe in the definition of tomorrow.