1,500 meters of you.

You sat inside my ear, a perfect hideaway for all the links we share.
The wallflower grows inside of both of us, and somewhere in between.
I called just to hear your voice and how we suffer on the inside both the same,
Just sparked from different flints and flamed by different winds.
Aren't we all just a little misunderstood?
No, they don't relate.
We sit back inside our heads, disconnect from all the petty little things that could make us 'normal.'

And for some reason there are people looking up to you and me, like we're mother bird.
But there is no flight here, our solidarity washes away too easily - like footsteps in the sand being dragged out to the sea.

My mother yelled at me how your mother yells at you. She wants to know why you open up your veins to spill your life onto the floor for any pretty little girl, but not to her. In reply we muster up some way to throw it in the air with teenage angst.

If I could I'd wrap you in my arms to wash away the thoughts we share of logging out.
With my eyes clenched shut, all I have to save me is this wooden body.
With your eyes clenched shut, you find your own salvation.

Dedicated to Jaxon Waterhouse.