and I feel like I'm the cotton candy

being spun in circles,

can't see straight but I'm

sticking to this sweet sugar that

can make me whirl like

two-year-olds on a merry-go-round.

it's funny how we're driving

straight to disaster

because we've got

legs shaking and lips sticking to teeth.

I've got no spit left to kiss him

and if my muscles move it's

not really me.

and I feel like I'm the sugar

stirred into your coffee,

settling to the bottom

so that at the end you can taste

that over-the-top-hit-of-sucrose.

I'm sticking my face in the rain

and hoping that if my eyeliner runs,

it'll make the bags under my eyes

less obvious.

pupils larger-than-life

but I'm above that now because

I'm being spun like it's a

tilt-a-whirl and the sugar I'm on

is more than you'll ever get

because we're the ones with the

hardcore shit.

morning after and I'm wishing

the circles I'm spinning would just

go the fuck away,

because it's not healthy

to be walking in a waterfall

in public.