On rare days, when we're screwing around
with the world, happiness shields me
under its cloak
and you can't harm me.
Driving around down, I sing (with a crappy accent)
loudly, from the back seat of your car.
the neighborhood doesn't approve of our ways,
ignorant, i call them.
(they don't know how it feels like it
frantically try to patch up the b r o k e n pieces
of my heart)
The sky folds its seams
in the nights, hiding bruises and i
think i might heal under its consolation.