Some days I feel like playing it smooth. Some days I feel like playing it like a waffle iron. The parts of me that used to think I was different or smarter or whatever, almost made me die. The rejects. My thrill. My strange desire that keeps mounting higher. When I look at you I can’t keep still. You’re my thrill. All that pain you brought me dug in like a toothpick. You taught me how to drive. The boy and the blue. The rocket. You were the music heard faintly on the edge of sound. And then to dream of you at night, and to think of nothing except. Without existing, you won’t leave me alone.