Eight Shades of Blue

Wicked high on my thoughts- I'm feeding it with dead leaves and dried memories, like a bonfire of color. I'm telling you everything I never would, saying anything that comes to mind. I'm hung on the moon, hung on your every word, sitting in a pool of yellow.

Drunk on moonshine. High on thoughts. Baby, I'm under the influence-

of you, Jack (and the beanstalk, ofcourse)

He's higher than me, even.

Life is so interesting. He thinks he's more lost than he's ever been, and I think I've finally found myself. Neither of us knows what tomorrow holds, or even if tomorrow will come for either of us.

Surely it's down the rabbit hole for me. Lost, wicked lost. And him with the mushroom at the door that will finally explain everything. Baby, can't be lost until you have a place you're headed.

Tonight I enjoyed a cup of tea with the lights out. I listened to a song with my eyes closed. I drew a picture of you with the paint brush between my teeth. And baby, it all turned out so beautiful. The tea was warm, like you. The song was soft. The picture was a total failure, but it would have made you laugh. And there was a beauty in all eight shades of blue.

When you get home I hope you hug me and cover me up.