No amount of the right words at the right time
will melt scars off your skin.
Art won’t chase your ghosts for you,
running isn’t confrontation, and terrifyingly enough
love sometimes doesn’t fill you up.
You won’t find the answers in the paper curls of smoke,
drawn perfectly in a black bound book.
because perfection is the average of two mistakes,
but two mistakes is far more than you’ve made.
The rich life ain’t for me,
but when you’re in love nothing’s free,
and patience is my new currency,
but I’m shit at gambling.