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.