Sometimes I feel like a fly that someone is hanging over a globe and I just feel like screaming  “I’m up too high!” {but I can’t} The noises of subtle appearances have plagued our existence, and pushed my voice so deep into my stomach that speaking is impossible.

"Frownie rhymes with brownie", the doctor likes to remind, sometimes I think he’s lying {I lie, why can’t he?} and sometimes I believe him. Although, when he talks, sometimes I hear the static of your voice, the warmth of your body, the touch of your skin, and I find myself falling {again}. Someone reminds me constantly, I’m better then this {_{such a lie}} and that I just need to fly again; too bad my wings were burned by the image of the two of you.

When I’m alone, {which seems like always now and days} I dream of things; like words that could rhyme with orange and the retainer in that mouth of yours. {one more year, right?} These eyes have memorized these things, {all sorts of things} and the tears seem warm. Late at night, when I’m talking to my best friend{your girlfriend} you invade the ideas crafted out of fairy dust and chocolate strawberries {do you remember when you bought me some of those?}I find the ledge closer then I thought and my feet falling off. How could of I forget, you can’t catch me anymore?

And as all these words tumble out and into a newly crafted image, I can’t help but feel like a fly.