Those Are My Socks

dull-youth:

Every so often, I need my senses checked. I’m such a wreck if I lose direction. So what if I should consider self-help, late nights to interrogate myself burning paths between my bedroom and the bar? A finer place to start picking out my poisons from the wall. There’s a war inside my head, I’d say I’m getting used to it.
Some nights well spent. I’m never sold on self-help. I’m too fresh to interrogate myself when I have the strength to crawl back into bed. I’m writing lists in notebooks, I’m organizing every word, but less forgetful in dividing lines. You called me right on time. I’m picking out my poisons from the wall. There’s a war inside my head, I’d say I’m getting used to it, I’m getting over it, I’m getting back in bed.
We all seem overwhelmed, keeping time will never tell. I really shouldn’t stay, I should be proper for a change,
Every so often I need my senses checked when I have the strength to crawl into your bed. I’ll change my plans instead.
This is a night worth saving. I will pour my doubts onto the floor and wear away the pavement between my back porch and your door. Do you think that I should stay? I need to be proper for a change.

Into It. Over It. P R O P E R.

(Source: tonyistony, via kreaturefear)