January 9th

You own the sky.

You just don't know it.

You are my insanity.

You are my dreams. 

You are the reason I can't have nice things.

You are the light that breaks the dark.

You are the shade protecting me.

You are better than audio.

Better than video.

Better than the films of Lucio Fulci.

To hell with that phone.

You are the images you want me to see.

But you are much more.

So much more.

I see the things you don't want to be seen.

You are the imperfection.

The crack in the window.

You own my nights and stop me from sleeping.

Your inside is beautiful. Your outside is deep.

You are lost memories I can never keep.

You are better than Netflix.

You are better than Christmas.

The ghost of New Year.

You are better than all the bad music you hear.

You are better than this.

And here I tell you.

That I can never tell you.

But that doesn't mean its not true.

You own the sky.

For as long as the sun burns.

Not long.